


Shades of Red

by NewtNewt



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Abusive Dave's Bro | Beta Dirk Strider, Alternate Universe - 1950s, Alternate Universe - Greasers, Angst with a Happy Ending, Dave and Dirk Strider Are Not Related, Depression, Dirk Strider and Dave's Bro Aren't the Same Person, Eventual Dave Strider/Dirk Strider, Eventual Happy Ending, Gay Dave Strider, Greaser Dave Strider, Homophobia, I swear, Internalized Homophobia, It Gets Better, M/M, Minor John Egbert/Dave Strider, Poverty, Slow Burn, Suicidal Thoughts, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-30
Updated: 2018-08-08
Packaged: 2019-06-17 21:52:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 41,610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15470880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NewtNewt/pseuds/NewtNewt
Summary: Secrets can only get held in so much until they erupt into shades of red.-Dave is a young greaser living in poverty with an abusive, older Bro, whose hand is both heavy with liquor and punches. A heat of the moment decision that destroys Dave's world leaves him with two options: remain in his hometown and ultimately be reduced to death, or leave with nothing and start anew. His path takes him to Hollywood then, allowing his world to now flourish with an underground scene of people like him that he'd never before imagined, and along with it, a male from his distant past who seems like the perfect happy ending.-





	1. Sleepsong

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "When you're out, loneliness, it crawls up in the ground  
> It's what you feel, but can't articulate out loud.  
> Oh, you go to sleep on your own and you wake each day with your thoughts  
> And it scares you being alone  
> It's a last resort  
> All you want is someone onto whom you can cling"  
> -  
> Dave goes through a typical day, betting his luck on a date that goes south and remembering just how much he'll risk for those baby blues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi and welcome to my labour of love story! It's got a lot of plot and a lot of love put into it. It does deal with very harsh themes, but I promise they are done tactfully and although a bit graphically, it's not crude. I hope you enjoy the story and can get past my typos and excess use of names though.
> 
> Enjoy your stay.
> 
> *Unwanted sexual themes towards the end of the chapter. Mild yet still there as a warning.*  
> [Song title taken from Bastille's album 'All This Bad Blood', as will every single other chapter name.]

Metallic rises in Dave’s throat and he’s choking back whatever sound wishes to come out. He stares in the mirror, a foreign face in front of him; a face that bares a cut cheek and a bruised jaw bone, his cheek bone spattered in the same, small barrage of painful colors from the same ugly palette. His lip has been split from how hard he was biting onto it, blood dribbling down from it in a small stream. He takes a breath and turns on the faucet, splashing water in his face until the urge to vomit is gone.

He grabs his keys, shades sliding on afterwards to cover his red eyes and the blues underneath. Cut knuckles reach for a bloodied leather jacket and he hesitates, licking his thumb and wiping away the red liquid from the precious leather before he slides that on. He moves onto his shoes, the greaser rolling up the bottom of his jeans as he tugs his white sock clad feet into scuffed, black, dress shoes. He gets up and leaves.

 

Dave can’t name at what age all Hell broke loose. Perhaps it was always like that- perhaps the male was born bearing the marks of large hands and alcohol heavy punches. Maybe growing up he just didn’t think about it as much or maybe his brother had a tiny bit of pity on a twelve year old who didn’t even know how to hold a knife yet.

Or maybe not.

He makes a point to never think into the past- to look and remember is to admit that times were better and that people have changed. That maybe their paychecks are smaller these days and while the fridge is always empty, Bro is never hungry. That maybe they’re just poor, through and through, and not that just _he_ is poor. Maybe his brother goes to bed hungry, too, and has to plan every trip he takes so that his car won’t leave him, not a dime on him for an ounce of gas.

Or maybe not.

Dave doesn’t think about it. He just shoves his hands into his pockets, finger rubbing along the edges of his key fob as he walks past his beloved cherry mustang. He’s not driving it today- it’s not important enough of a trip. A dire need to get away and to have room to breathe isn’t worth while enough to waste gas on, today- rather, he’ll waste the gas on racing friends or impressing them; keeping up a sort of… persona, instead. Too bad personas and being liked won’t fill up your stomach or put gauze on your wounds.

So, that’s what he’s is doing. He’s filling up his stomach this time, instead of his gas tank; a short walk to the nearest service station, which happens to be empty right now. It is a late Tuesday night after all and most everyone he knows is at a drive in movie. He had to make up a excuse this time, heeding warning to the note his brother had left him two days ago with a time and a date, which happened to be an hour and a half ago, today. And no, he hadn’t missed it. Certainly not. Instead, he had gone and won the trophies shining on his face in the form of bruises and blood.

That’s the most unsettling part, isn’t it? Drunkards who go into fits of rage don’t plan their abuse sessions. Yet his brother does.

But, he’s walking to get himself some food. Preferably not the food Bro had accused Dave of stealing a few nights ago- which he hadn’t done. He honestly thinks Bro just got drunk and ate it. Another excuse to beat up his younger brother, really, but Dave has no reason to think about that now. If he dwelled over past occurrences and past hurt, he would be here forever, thinking and thinking and crying and hurting. He does that anyways, so no need to prolong it.

Hands come out of his pockets once his feet touch the cement in front of the store, though. It’s not really cold, for once, though it never is in Houston. It’s a warm September, despite the oddity of that. Perhaps it’s the humidity, eating up at him and making him lick his split lip, the taste of iron crawling over his tongue afterwards. He doesn’t swallow and spits on the ground instead, pretending to not notice the red tinge it carries.

A few more steps and he’s inside the poorly lit store, though, split knuckle hands pushing open the door. The cashier is some kid he’s seen around a few times- more of a middle class, not poor enough to hang with the greasers, but not rich enough to hang with the socs. It’s a lonely existence, left unbothered. He envies it.

A sweep of the store lets him know that it really is empty though, allowing him to stock up on foods he’s shy to get around his friends. Basics. Hot dog buns and normal white bread, followed by apple juice and beef jerky. Gas station lunch meat isn’t the best thing to eat, but he hasn’t had a solid meal in a while- unless it’s fries he’s stolen off of someone’s plate at the diner- so don’t blame him if it’s a mini shopping trip. This stuff are things he’ll keep in the cooler in the back of his car, which is probably the best damn thing he’s ever bought. It only takes a tiny, $5 bag of ice to keep the thing cool for a long ass time. So, it’s his makeshift refrigerator and probably the only thing Bro doesn’t touch. It’s empty most of the time anyways.

 

Dave plops the groceries down onto the checkout counter, hesitating before he quickly goes to grab a bottle of alcohol and some easy-wrap bandages. The cashier then rings it up and bags it, telling him his total. $20.65. The amount makes his heart hurt and his wallet, too, nose scrunching a bit. He’s just sighing and mumbling curses under his breath as he puts down a twenty dollar bill and then goes fishing for a one- does he even have that? Maybe he can go for some pennies and a quarter, a dime too or so. He starts to fish for it, feeling half embarrassed as the cashier pretends to fuss with the bag during the mean time.

He finally wrangles out two quarters, getting out the remaining dime and nickel after. He hands it to the guy then, glad for his shades once more.

“I don’t need the receipt.” Dave murmurs it out in that quiet, Southern tone of his, the male going to grab his bags when-

“Here’s your change, sir.” He needs the change- he doesn’t want it, though. It’s embarrassing enough. He looks up and then- his eyebrows furrow.

“But I gave you the exact amount, didn’t I?” He counted that shit out, it better have been the right amount. He tried hard for over counting, didn’t he? Biggest idiot, he swears, holding out his hand for the penny or nickel or-

He looks at his palm. There’s a moment of silence as the cashier slides the five dollar bill into his hand, the two holding their breath it seems. Perhaps his cheeks go a bit pink and he nods his head, going to tuck the bill into his pocket.

“Thanks.” It comes out oddly quietly and he clears his throat, going to grab his bags and then leave, quick then. He’ll pretend he doesn’t hear that soft, little ‘you’re welcome’ from the cashier boy, shaggy, almond hair and big ass, hazel eyes following Dave out. Yeah. He’ll pretend he doesn’t notice.

 

The walk home is almost identical to the walk there- it’s hot, humid, and Dave is still spitting out blood. His shirt sticks to him a bit and he’s half impressed he doesn’t have a gash along his side this time; during the last, little ‘strife’ with his brother, he was left with a gash running from the top of his jeans to his bottom most rib. It was deep and then got more shallow the further up his body it went, on top of it taking a long fucking time to heal. He’s learned to be faster since then.

And that’s a bit of bittersweet irony, isn’t it?

Dave’s fast. He never loses a one-on-one fight with his peers and socs are scared of him- Hell, other greasers are scared. He can use a knife like no other and can duck punches, kick out feet. He can slice and punch and the only thing he’ll leave a fight with is a scuffed shoe and split knuckles, maybe. Yet, he’s always the one hurt. He’s always the one walking around town, sometimes limping, with a bloodied shirt and a busted face.

Yet, everyone is quiet. No one says a word. Dave thinks they all know- they have to. Abuse stares them in the face as sourly as poverty does and he knows their eyes must be damn _sore_ from looking at it so much.

But no one says a word and he certainly won’t. He doesn’t have anywhere to go and life is a game between God and the Devil. He isn’t about tangle between and bet his luck.

 

Dave arrives home soon enough. His brother’s motorcycle is still parked out front, right by the front door. He doesn’t know why. It’s not like Bro has anything to run from- it’s not like _he’s_ the one who gets the shit beat out of them every other day.

It takes a moment for him  to realize that he’s paused in front of their house, knuckles white as he clutches the bags’ handles. He takes a breath and steadies himself then, going to open the back door of his car. Find the cooler and drag it close, opening it up and tossing the food in carefully. He gets in after, finding that this is the only place he actually feels safe and at home. He’ll bet that right now his brother is sleeping, too. Maybe he still has blood on his shoes and hands or maybe not. Even if he washes it away, it’ll always be there.

He takes out the gauze. He takes out the alcohol, too, digging through the back until he finds some spare washcloths. He tries to keep a basic first aid around, especially for times like this, dousing the cloth in alcohol before wiping his whole face off and his knuckles. It burns like hell fire. This isn’t the worse he’s ever had it, either. His lip might be busted the worse it’s ever been, but he’s had worse. He’s been cut up like fucking fruit before and he survived. He’ll see worse in the future, too. He knows it.

A few more moments and he’s patched up. He covers his knuckles with the gauze- small pieces he cuts to fit with his knife, only on the worst parts, because the cuts and splits are deep, but gauze is something to be conserved in case of emergencies- and then he’s done. He stows everything else away, hidden, taking another few moments to himself.

The first few moments are used for eating. The pain is sharper now that he’s alcoholed and cleaned everything, but he’s sure it’ll die down into that deep, aching pain over the next few days. Bro will back off for a while- or at least avoid his face and fists. Is that better? Maybe. Depends on how he feels about bruised ribs and sides that day. Maybe a sliced ankle or leg.

But… eating. He takes out the lunchmeat and the bread- he makes a shitty sandwich with no condiments or anything, and really just ends up giving up on the bread half way through, washing down the meat with apple juice straight from the jug, because he’s desperate for meat. He needs protein to function and this is the first actual food he’s had in a while. It tastes all the better.

The rest of his night consists of sneaking inside and making sure his brother is asleep on the couch- he is- and then stowing away in his room. He doesn’t have anything to do, no, but it’s late and he’s tired. He’s tired and sore and it’s just another day. Another pain. Another fight he’s lost. It’ll be the same tomorrow and the day after and onwards. It’ll be the same thing for the next week, in between sneaking bites of food and wasting gas on his friends. Doing odd jobs for money and working at the mechanic’s for some stable income, all the while ignoring the pitying looks he’s getting. The five dollar bill burns a hole in his pocket all the while. And at the end of each day, he does the same thing. He passes out with blood in his mouth and bashed knuckles throbbing, only to wake up the next day and do this Hell all over again.

 

Dave doesn’t know if he’s ever really examined the difference between socs and greasers too hard. He knows the basics- everyone does. One is rich and one is poor. One fights and is made of general assholes, supposedly. The other is made of goody two shoes who are, apparently, kids with sticks up their ass.

But what about the kid in the store? The cashier?

If he’s not one of those, what is he? What does he see when he looks at Dave? He can’t be scared- he can’t see an asshole. Or maybe he does and he just felt pity in that one moment, giving up his last bit of change for someone in more dire need than him. Maybe his entire wallet was full and the five won’t make a different. Maybe it does and is.

Dave doesn’t know. He doesn’t have a lot of friends- or, he does, but not friends who care or give a shit. Not friends who check in and look at him- not friends who actually invite him out without expecting a show or something in return. But, those are the only friends he has. They’re all he’s got and he’s not about to let go of what he’s managed to scrounge up throughout his eighteen year life- and that’s something, too, isn’t it?

He’s eighteen. He’s been suffering for eighteen years. This December will mark nineteen years of surviving this bullshit from his brother-

And it’s more than that.

Dave is more than that.

He has a secret.

He has a lot of secrets. Sure. He has a lot of things and thoughts he’s bottled up inside and cried over at night when his brother can’t beat him for the tears cascading down his cheeks- but he’s not crying over his physical pain or hurt. He’s not crying over the cuts on his body or the scars that litter it.

He’s crying for the mental and emotional pain that rips at him, and it’s not even his fear of being left that keeps him up. It’s not the abuse at the hands of his brother; it’s not how his brother cares if he eats or not, merely tolerating his presence and not even doing that at the same time.

No, it’s not even that. It’s more than that, believe it or not.

It’s the feeling and fear that he will never be himself.

It doesn’t come from the oppressive hand of his brother this time. It comes from his friends and his society and his town. It comes from his damned _nation_.

‘If a man lies with another man, he is an abomination and sin, cast to Hell.’

So, he holds his breath at night.

He holds it at night and in the morning and in the afternoon. He holds it with every breath and movement he makes because _he cannot slip up_. Slipping up will mean a tragedy unknown to him. It means being left alone to die by everyone he knows, as if he is a murderer who has stolen a life. Not that he is a soul who only desires another soul to spend his life with.  

So, that is why he cries at night. He doesn’t cry because of the pain and he doesn’t cry because of the blood that leaves his body in shades of red. He doesn’t cry because he is scorned for his eyes, too, even, or his white hair. He doesn’t cry because he’s smaller than most and more feminine in his body- he cries because he is not allowed to be who he wants to be.

Because he likes his eyes. He likes his white hair, a platinum blonde really, and he likes his small body. He likes how short he is and he likes all the scars that litter him, although the reasoning behind them is ugly and sour.

He cries because he is not allowed to find someone who will like these parts of him, too.

 

Dave has a date.

Or rather, is getting one. He needs it.

Every so often, being a greaser and also a closeted gay guy, he needs to feign interest in a girl for a while. Maybe take her on a few dates and then drop her for reasons unknown or bullshit something. He’s done it before. He did it with a few, sweet girls. He feels sort of bad about that, too. They were real darlings- Hell, he almost did it to Jade, but then John told him to let her down easy and apologize for leading her on, or Rose was going to kick his ass, just a forewarning. Dave believed it, too. Especially with the girl behind Rose always hanging around and watching him- she’s got a knife in her pocketbook, disguised as some sort of makeup product. He’s seen it. He’ll never mention it, though. They’ve all got their issues and secrets.

But, he’s got to get a date.

There are plenty of options, too, when he walks into the diner on a Wednesday afternoon. It’s the next week and his knuckles and lip has healed pretty well. He’s got some shiners on his stomach and ribs, but it’s not like those are going to kill him. No one’s going to see them besides himself anyways, so it doesn’t matter.

A quick survey of the place gives him all the information he needs as well- it’s a good mix today. This is one of the only places in town where socs and greasers can actually interact without trying to stab each other or fight, foaming at the mouth. So yeah, it’s a good mix. It’s a good variety and carries a lot of options, at least in the department he’s looking in today.

And he hates it sometimes. All the time. He hates how he looks at these things- how his eyes go around a room and he forces them to skip over guys after a second, fear biting down onto him that if he looks too long, he’ll be figured out. How every time he looks at a girl, there’s this… He can name things he likes, but he doesn’t _like_ them. Being a heart breaker for people who could genuinely care about isn’t fun, either. He’d much rather have all these girls as reliable friends instead of people who gossip about him and how he kisses- if he paid any interest in them and if he ever opened up. Did they see his eyes? What did they think? Did they see under his shirt, into his pants?

It’s always a no.

Not for the shades- he doesn’t have a problem with it as much as other people do- but for the pants. Sex, in other words.

He can’t ever bring himself to do it.

He’s had endless opportunities- times when he could have sex with a girl and it would’ve been… what would it have been? What right does he have to take the virginity of a girl when he has no intentions of staying? When he doesn’t think any part of them is beautiful in the way they want him to?

He doesn’t.

He doesn’t have a single damn right to any of them, and really, he’s glad they gossip. If you ask one, she’ll say she did. She was wonderful, great. At least a greaser girl will. A soc girl... she might blush. Maybe say yes if she’s a bit rebellious. Most will giggle and look away though, causing her friends to blush and giggle, too. Maybe wave you away and laugh amongst themselves.

He’s not even sure if the soc girls _know_ if they have or not. Why giggle?

It doesn’t matter, though. He has a mission and all these thoughts are creeping up and ruining it. He needs a date. So, who will it be today? Who is on his list of pretending and heartbreak?

 

Her name’s Terezi Pyrope and she’s a gamble. Dave’s talked to her a bit before and she seems interested- bats her lashes and leans real close. She’s got a sharp tongue and a dirty sense of humor, maybe a bit morbid even, but she’s not as rough as Vriska and that counts for something. She smokes, but only occasionally. Her favorite thing to do is drama club, when she goes to school, and in the meantime, fights and wages war against soc girls, but that’s only a hobby.

Naturally.

But she’s a gamble. Her mouth is honest and she doesn’t gossip unless it’s the truth. If she sees something about Dave- a cut, a bruise, a weakness- she’ll spill it. If she was a treasure chest, she’d be empty. Of course, he has to hand it to her. She’s the most honest person he’s ever spoke to and she’ll be blunt with you. She has the dirt on every person alive- everyone who breathes in her vicinity.

Which makes her the biggest gamble yet.

But, he’s desperate and he’s tired of breaking sweet girls’ hearts. Not that Terezi isn’t sweet, but she won’t hold a grudge. She’ll move on fast and accept whatever reasoning you give- maybe coming up with her own reasoning, too, but it’s all the same.

She’s safe if you play her right.

And that’s what he’s trying to do. He gives a quick nod to a few of his friends and moves on through the diner, making his way to the booth where Terezi sits. She’s with a few girls that he hasn’t paid attention to a day in his life- namely Aradia, he thinks? A nice girl. She smokes excessively and wears red everywhere, but she’s pretty and colored. Gorgeous, really. She hooks up with Sollux sometimes- and he doesn’t pay attention to them now. He’s got a mission and he’s going to accomplish it, taking a quick look over of the girl before he has a smirk planted on his face and he’s sliding in beside her. An arm is already going around the top of the booth, leather jackets touching as he raises his eyebrows at the girl.

“Hey.”

“Oh, well look who it is. I haven’t seen you around in a while.”

Her voice is sort of high and whiny- her only downfall, really. He finds it irritable and he isn’t sure how he’ll make it through a whole date with her, but he’s not a rude ass. She’s pretty nice other than that, and she can’t change her damn _voice_.

“Hm, well you’re seeing me now, aren’t you?”

It’s sort of a joke between the two of them- between everyone and Terezi, really, if you’re nice enough. She’s partially blind in one eye and fully blind in the other. It’s enough that they won’t let her drive, but she refuses to use any sort of aid besides that. Her tongue is sharp enough to make up for any lack of sight she has, regardless. You don’t fuck with her.

“Am I really, David?”

“Possibly. Do you wanna see me this Friday, at the drive in theatre?”

Smooth. At least he takes it to be such by how he catches Sollux hiding a snort, eyes widening a bit behind his glasses. Dave smirks. Yeah. He’s pretty fucking slick. That’s the only benefit to not liking girls, maybe- he has no anxiety. If they say no, he’ll move on to the next. No hard feelings or broken hearts here for him. And it’s ironic. It’s shitty and sucks and hurts for them- and for him, too, if he gets moral about it. But today he isn’t getting moral about it. He’s trying to get a date to save his ass for this month.

“Hmm. Possibly. Will you pick me up and buy tickets?” She raises her eyebrows and he meets her eyes behind his glasses and behind hers, too, which are red tinted, teal eyes meeting red.  He rolls his eyes.

“Naturally. I’m a gentleman, aren’t I?” It’s all little charades. He cares none and that’ll tear him up later. He doesn’t care when he puts an arm around her and she leans into it, head resting on his shoulder a bit. And doesn’t care how her friends giggle and how she, maybe, smiles a bit. He hopes she knows how this is going to end. He trusts she does.

“Hm. Are we really talking about the same person?”

“Haha. Funny.”

“It’s a yes, David. And yes, I’m going to continue calling you that.”

“Lovely.”

And it is lovely. He has a date. It’s not lovely that he’s working a shift in thirty minutes in order to pay for these tickets or whatever else has to go along with it. It’s not lovely that he’ll be wracked with anxiety the days leading up. It’s not lovely _at all._ But he’s saved his ass for one more day so he’ll consider it a victory for now.

 

It’s been two days. Dave’s predictions were pretty right, too. He’s been wracked with anxiety, but he can’t just back out. He put this upon himself and for once in his life; Bro hasn’t given him shit this week. And maybe that’s worse. The universe has given him a break for once in his damned, miserable life, and instead he fucks it up for himself.

See, Terezi is a gamble. He’s gone over reasons why and all that- how to play her right and what to say to her questions. Since Bro is gone tonight and tomorrow on… something,- He just left a note, as if that would mean anything to Dave- he’s left his cooler inside along with all the first aid supplies. He doesn’t want Terezi to see it and blab her damn mouth or look in it or anything. But- she’s a gamble. He’s covered all his bases, yet he can’t cover one.

She’s… _interested_. Interested in the way everyone knows. Interested in her dirty jokes and lingering hands that make his skin crawl and vomit ebb up his throat. He’s not sure how he’ll deal with that. He’ll have to figure it out.

And figure it out he does. Or- at least tries to. He picks her up at six and the movie starts at eight, but they hang at the diner for a few before to meet with everyone. He buys her a strawberry milkshake and compliments what she’s wearing, a pretty red dress with her typical leather jacket, aqua jewelry going along with it nicely. And she does look nice. She really does. Her ginger hair goes with most everything and really makes her teal eyes pop. It’s natural and she keeps it cut in a bob, her hair straight and generally pretty manageable, it seems. It’s… cute.

So, he handles it. He manages every sly comment on the way to the diner and the comments he receives paying for the tickets and going in. Things about his knuckles and how scarred they are- why his car smells like alcohol, and not the drinking kind. Yet, he deflects. He’s just got to make it through this shit and he’ll be home free by the end of the night, really. He can go and sleep and work and sleep. Maybe visit other friends- actual people he likes, now that he can talk about this and won’t get pestered about what girls have caught his eye.

Finally, they’re parked, though. He stays near the back of the field where all the parking takes place, and he gets out, opening the door for Terezi. He brings out some old blankets and everything, too, to sit on top of his car and the ground in front of it. His friends, parked nearby, have done the same. Its easy practice and tradition- turn your car off and relax here, watch the movie. Maybe suck some face and get some, even, if you’re lucky- but he doesn’t have any plans for that, tonight.

His plans involve what he’s doing now- laying out the blankets and letting Terezi settle down, previews starting, before he walks off to buy some bottles of coke and some popcorn. It’s a small treat for him and he’s all for it, really. And he is all for it, and she seems to be, too, a good way into the movie. They share the popcorn between them and the coke bottles get mixed up, but he can’t find it in himself to care. She certainly doesn’t seem to care either, the two arguing quietly for a moment as the car on screen breaks down and whatever shitty horror movie is happening commences. The little tussle between them ends in both of them drinking from both bottles, each considering it a truce. Both are stubborn as well- maybe that’s why he doesn’t mind her so bad. Both have their shades on, for instance, and no. He can’t see a fucking thing on the screen, but he doesn’t give a shit. It’s fine. Terezi isn’t half bad company, really. She’s nice. He’s comfortable.

He stays comfortable until right around the middle of the film- or is it past that? He wouldn’t know. He hasn’t been paying attention to a damn thing that’s happening on the film, too focused on watching the stars, as cheesy as that is. It’s the stars or shoveling popcorn in his mouth. Pretending to watch the movie but actually admiring the guys around him is certainly an option as well. Shades sure do come in handy.

But, he’s uncomfortable now. It happens when Terezi gets a tad too close. The popcorn is suddenly in his lap and huh, that’s not that bad. He understands it whenever Terezi slides in close to his side, and maybe she’s tired? She’s always liked horror and he can see why this shitty piece of art would make her sleepy. She could probably doze off during it, honestly. But, no. She’s not asleep and rather, on the contrary, she seems wide awake. Her movements are fluid and simple, soft enough. A hand and arm slides around him to mimic his own behind her, and he doesn’t mind. Still close- sort of awkward, but it’s fine. What he does mind is how close her face is to his, suddenly. A kiss wouldn’t hurt. He doesn’t really want to, but it wouldn’t pain him. Kissing girls isn’t horrible. They’re soft and lipstick is sort of dry and gross, but it’s better than lipgloss that makes him stick together and want to scrub his lips. So, no. A kiss wouldn’t hurt.

It doesn’t, either, when it’s initiated. he goes along with it for a bit of time- just kissing her. Nothing special. What is special- or rather, different and bordering that _real_ uncomfortable zone- is when her hand goes in the popcorn. Like, sure. It’s popcorn. Whatever. Why? He doesn’t know. But then he knows.

The popcorn is over his crotch.

She’s going to-

Okay, no.

He puts up with the kiss for a few seconds more and then breaks it, going to pull away and shove the popcorn aside. Wipe his lips and avoid looking at her, subtly going to clear his throat a bit and get the taste of her off of him.

“I’m going to get a new coke.”

He doesn’t wait for an answer until he’s standing and walking away, ducking. He wipes at his mouth until he’s sure the red lipstick is gone, indeed heading to the little kiosk while he’s at it. He does buy a coke, too. He uses it to wash out his mouth, spitting out the sugary liquid after. He’s pretty glad that the car is far away, because he can’t stand this shit. He hates it. He hates it with a burning passion and he wants to puke now.

Because you know what? He’s not doing it.

He doesn’t care if she tells people he’s a puss or a wimp or couldn’t handle it. Maybe he can just go back and tell her he’s flat out not attracted to her.

He debates it, too.

He takes another swig of the coke, though, about to swallow it when that feeling returns.

He spits it out again.

“Dave- what are you doing?”

A new voice. A friendly voice, actually. John. Dave glances up from where he’s spat the coke, blinking. He’s not… well, he’s not sure how to respond. Because it’s John.

John breaks Dave’s heart.  He wasn’t the first to do it, but he’s certainly the current heartthrob. Baby blues stare into Dave’s soul like he matters and it crumbles him up inside and spits him out. The male’s half Korean and he’s got gorgeous tan skin and wavy, dark hair. Dave’s always wondered what it feels like. How it’d be to kiss John instead, feel his hair. What if those baby blues looked at him the same way girls did?

“Dave?”

He blinks and clears his throat. He takes another quick sip of coke.

“I’m... rinsing my mouth?”

“Yeah, I’ve got that. Why?”

Another moment of pause. _Kissing Terezi wasn’t really bad but then she went for a dick feel and I want to puke now._

“My current hook up isn’t going that well.”

A pause from John, the soc- which is interesting, because John doesn’t have a stick up his ass. He is rich, though. Plenty of money to go around. Everyone knows it, too, with John’s little, polished shoes and his new glasses. His blue sweatervest and his white button up, black dress pants- finally cracking a smile. He still has braces at age eighteen and it melts the greaser’s heart.

“Terezi, right? Oh, yeah!  I tried to go out with her but, uh… She was a little mean for my tastes.”

“Yeah? You seem like you’d be for a real softie. She’s not too much in my tastes either, though, in case you haven’t noticed.”

“Yeah, I have noticed.” A dimpled smile. Dave thinks he might die. “So, who is in your tastes, Dave?”

He might actually die.

He hears that and he pauses. He’s got the coke bottle at his lips and he takes a sip, swallowing slowly and hesitating, because there was a pause. There’s a pause now, too, and maybe he wants to imagine it when he swears that John looks nervous. His little cheeks seem to be lit up pink and he didn’t have a date, did he? How did he see Dave? Why is he talking to Dave? John and him talk a bit, yeah, but not lately. Dave hasn’t talked to anyone lately. Yet, here John is. Soft baby blues. He swallows.

“Not a lot, but I’ll find someone, of course. I’m still young.”

“Yeah. Me, too.”

It feels like they’re both holding their breath. Like there are words on the tips of both of their tongues.

Dave wants to scream. He wants to shout and scream and smash the bottle in his hand- he wants to cry. He wants to do so much, because this is a dangerous situation. Or maybe it’s not dangerous at all. Maybe it’s innocent and dumb and he is too pent up with sadness and a lack of emotional support- maybe he’s been craving love and hankering this sad, bestfriend crush for too damn long and it’ll be the death of him. Yeah. Maybe that’s it.

“Alright. I’ve got to get back to Tez.”

“Bye, Dave.”

“Bye.”

Dave leaves and goes back to Terezi. She’s uninterested now. She ate all the damn popcorn, too, and just smiles and waves at him, but she’s with her friends. Aradia and Sollux, who have no problem being sexual. They don’t give a shit, making out and touching. Terezi seems to have no qualms with it either, occasionally glancing to the now alone him, as if asking if he has anything to say. He doesn’t.

So, the movie ends. He throws away the trash and packs up the blanket. He drives Terezi home and doesn’t kiss or touch her again- he’s not going to make amends with someone he has no reason to. He did nothing wrong, despite whatever she wants. He’s not here to make himself uncomfortable to pleasure someone else- and he’s already been then. He’s been damn close.

He remembers it.

He was probably… fuck, his sixteenth birthday? It was at a friend’s party. There were girls and there was this real, real sweet soc girl. Her name isn’t even remembered by him now but her face is- wide with these beautiful green eyes, so bright and sweet. They got locked in a closet together. It wasn’t timed or a joke or anything, either. They said they were doing him a favor and in he went with this… this poor girl he had barely talked to before. She was so sweet, too. Scared, even, which was disgusting, so no. He didn’t do anything. He didn’t lay a finger on her and he bashed the damn door down, splintering it a bit. Out they came and he thinks he really made himself known that night as someone to not fuck with. His knuckles were bleeding and he was shouting at his friends- ripping them a new one. They locked him in there with a girl two years younger than him, expecting them to _have sex?_ Expecting him to _pressure_ this girl? Fuck them, fuck this.

And that’s similar to what he feels after he drops Terezi off. She seems disappointed, but he doesn’t give a shit. Fuck this. He has no reasoning to apologize and he _won’t_. She knows the truth now- He doesn’t fuck everything that moves, surprise. He’s not who he seems.

 

He goes home.  Bro is gone, of course, and Dave is alone. He sort of feels like puking still. Maybe crying. His emotions are all tangled up and messed up- he doesn’t know how to feel. He goes to put his cooler back in his car, though. Eat a hotdog since he can actually use the microwave without Bro knowing now, the male changing afterwards. Showering and washing off his whole body from tonight, tired. So, so tired.

And so he eats. He eats and dresses and eventually gets into his bed, looking around his barren room. He’s got some clothes on the floor and a makeshift desk, half falling apart. He has a shitty chair… a window. He sighs. His shades get put beside him and his face turns to bury into his covers, baby blues coming to surface to haunt him.

Dave goes to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nice to see you here- I hope you enjoyed the story! If you like this chapter, it only gets better from here on. While there is a lot of action packed into one chapter, pardon me if it's too much. If it's not, read on. Wait until chapter three for a surprise.


	2. The Draw

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Don’t listen to your friends  
> See the despair behind their eyes  
> Don’t listen to your friends  
> They only care once in a while
> 
> Are you drifting way beyond what’s normal?  
> 'Cause 'round your mind rings the words that they would say?  
> When you go home everything looks different  
> And you're scared of being left behind
> 
> Just listen to your friends  
> Trusted that fair look in their eyes  
> Just listen to your friends  
> They only care and hope you're alright"  
> -  
> Dave makes the worst mistake of his life and is faced with the consequences, in more way than one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to the next chapter!  
> Hope ya enjoy it.
> 
> [Contains (1) one slur, a bit of betrayl, and a nice bit of era-typical homophobia. Also, description of abuse, although not graphic.]

Dave’s eyes open and he half wishes they didn’t.

Maybe it’s just the overwhelming feeling of despair in the air- the thought that he won’t ever fulfill what he wants.

No matter what he does, it doesn’t matter, either. He went with Terezi last night and pleased his friends, yet now he’s left with her and her flip of a coin. She was upset and he could tell- did she think he took her on a date as a joke or a whim just to brag? He did- but not for the reasoning she thinks, really. It’s cruel to take a girl out without liking them, he knows, but he has bases he needs to cover and she seemed like the safest option.

He was wrong.

He knows she was a gamble and he lost.

He can feel it now- the looks of her friends and the whispers of how Dave Strider turned down a chance for sex. How he got wimpy and left, but fuck that. It’s his body and he’ll do whatever the fuck he wants with it; don’t shame him into anything.

But… besides that, he left with more dilemmas.

More reasoning that makes him not want to get out of bed.

He has spending money, sure, but he has nowhere to go. He doesn’t want to see his friends or talk about the shitty date or lie- or _anything_. If he sees John he thinks he might just self destruct, as well.

Really, he thought he was okay.

Isn’t that how it always plays out?

You like someone and you think it’s fine. You don’t talk for a while and you drown yourself in responsibilities and other people.

You’re _fine_.

Yet, he walks in and flashes those baby blues and pearly whites, braced with silver and blue brackets.

He walks into Dave’s life with a cute, little, baby blue sweater vest that matches his eyes and makes his dark hair pop, his tan skin a pretty sand color. He speaks with a tiny bit of a lisp from his overbite, braces and all, and Dave falls for it.

He falls for the eighteen year old with braces.

He hates himself sometimes.

 

Dave has to get up, though. He could mope all day and regret living- but there’s still living to be done. He has a brother to face and a life that’s calling out to him, whether he wants it to or not. So, he sits up. He blinks open his ruby eyes and faces the cracked, tan ceiling of his humble abode, taking a heavy sigh before he hauls himself out of his bed.

Bare feet touch cold hardwood floor and his nose scrunches when he feels all the dirt and grit that must have been kicked off of his shoes, which are lying beside his dresser. A quick sweep of the rest of his room finds it in much worse condition as well, soda bottles that must be a month old, maybe, tangled in with old clothes. He swears he sees some old homework from God knows when, because really, he hasn’t gone to school consistently... well... ever. So, point taken. He needs to clean.

He also needs to shower. That strikes him whenever he runs a hand down his face and grease comes off of it, the male almost gagging. He generally takes good care of himself- has to- but this is a new level of gross. Maybe going to a drive in movie isn’t the best idea unless you’re prepared to sweat and roll around in the dirt, on second thought. So, yeah. Showering. That seems like a good idea right about now and he snatches some clothes from his closet- a greaser wears the same five articles of clothing every day, so it’s nothing new- and onto the shower he goes.

The water is cold and whatever leftover little cuts he has sting angrily as he washes at them, making sure he gets all the dirt off of his body as he scrubs his face. His hair is washed until he makes sure it’s its proper blondey white color, examining himself in the cracked mirror that they own afterwards.

He’s thin. He’s thin and maybe just… lanky. That’s his body type, he determines, stretching a bit. You can’t see his ribs and he considers that a Grade A improvement, since that’s been a problem for a while. A quick look at his side warrants the same reaction it always has though- a sigh and scrunched nose. He runs careful fingers over the angry scar there, still a bit pink and gaining that white, glossy-ish look. It hurts sometimes, especially if he stretches the wrong way or carries something at an awkward angle. He’ll just have to live with it though, he determines.

He has to just live with a lot of things.

 

Dave gets dressed at some point in time and has, by now, realized that his brother was home last night, but isn’t right now. He got home at around ten, maybe eleven, so when did his brother roll in and more importantly, when did he leave? Dave worries over it for a small moment or so before he determines that it’s just better for him if Bro isn’t here. It’s better in every way possible, really, especially when he realizes how much of a shit hole their house is. They need to clean.

He is cleaning. It starts with the beer bottles stacked on top of empty beer boxes and microwave meals, plus… cereal? He isn’t even sure where his brother gets all this shit- and more importantly, how he manages to stand all the trash it leaves behind- but he cleans it anyways. Perhaps it’ll get his brother on a good streak for a bit, or at least get him to leave him alone for a hot minute. Maybe he won’t even notice. He’s used to it. Either way, he’s making his own house a decent living space.

 

It wasn’t always likes this. Anyone with common sense can probably figure that out. He wasn’t raised using beer bottles as rattles and boxes of trash as a play pen. Mutilated stuffed animals weren’t what he went to sleep with and gashes and holes in the wall from fits of anger didn’t adorn his childhood as they adorn this wall.

Yet, they might as well have.

Age twelve. It’s always twelve because twelve was middle school and twelve is when Bro snapped.

Twelve was when he realized he wouldn’t ever be himself and a barrier was created around himself, blocking out the world.

Twelve was when kids became mean and started mocking Dave for his eyes- spitting at him and calling him a monster or demon. Add that onto the terrifying fear that he’d be sent to Hell already, caused by his slow realization that no, he didn’t like girls quite as much as he should, and you have a recipe for a childhood of disaster.

Now, how does a parent deal with this? Perhaps with love and support- telling him that his eyes are wonderful and that he shares the same eyes. That some people are just mean and cruel. Along with that, do not fret over who you like. You cannot help how you were created and while the world will be cruel for _many_ years to come, they can manage and sew a home that shall become a haven.

Or, of course, you could always go with option B, which Bro always seemed to favor instead of the first one.

Respond with a yell and a shout, demanding respect that had not been won. Tell him he is nothing and to get out of your way- throw a punch at the wall beside his head. Demand that he take care of himself and explain that tears are weakness and weakness is to not be tolerated.

Give a knife to your twelve year old and teach him how to fight through cuts and life or death.

So, no. Twelve wasn’t a kind age for him and it wasn’t always like this. He faintly remembers having food and coming home smiling, considering the tiny upturn of lips granted to him some trophy to win forever. Now, ignorance of his presence is the best gift he could ever be granted. A single day without a hand touching him is perhaps even a better gift- and better yet, Bro never coming home.

The thought makes him fill with an odd sort of unsettled feeling and he bites his tongue, continuing on.

 

Trash bags full of… stuff, are taken out and tossed in the big garbage bins they have outside. He throws out newspaper and what seem to be mutilated stuffed animals, not questioning it when he tosses them out. Soon enough, the living room is bearable. You can see the coffee table and the TV doesn’t have masses of things stacked on top of it, the male sighing a bit. He’s proud, maybe? That’s an odd word to put on this situation, but he takes it anyways, the same way he takes his keys and tugs on his shoes. He snags his wallet and counts how much money he has before heading outside, going to hop into his beloved car. Time to get gas and… maybe continue this productive streak.

Perhaps today isn’t so bad, if you discount every day before it.

 

Today is, actually, that bad. Dave determines it once he pulls up to the gas station and sees Terezi and her friends perched there, just parked and hanging out of the car like they can just chill there and shit like it’s the diner of the park. Hint, _it’s not._ Yet, they’re still there and he still needs gas badly. Like, his car is going to leave him badly. Besides, just turning around and driving away would be pretty fucking shady, so the male pulls up to a pump anyways. He has to pay inside- cash and all that- so he parks his car and then goes to walk inside after glancing at the pump number. This should be... relatively fine.

It’s fine, but it’s also not fine at all. He walks into the gas station and is actually pretty glad for once to see that the little, green eyed cashier isn’t on duty, just for his own heart’s sake. That five has been burning a damn hole in his pocket and for some reason he’s determined not to use it, be it out of a reminder of humanity not being full of scum bags or what, he’s not sure. Instead, the cashier is just some middle aged guy who pays him no mind and doesn’t care when he puts a twenty on the pump. That’s all there is to it and he walks out after. That’s when it becomes not fine at all.

He  isn’t really sure why Terezi has to get in his shit all the time. Even before the date, she was. Pestering him and asking him about his injuries- how much money he has and how much makes at the mechanic’s. What odd jobs he takes and how he isn’t out with his friends a lot- maybe how he always dates girls, but it never lasts after the second or third date. He, just to spite her, dated a nice- not really, she was an ass- chick named Vriska for a month or so just ‘cause. Vriska seemed to get the hint pretty early on and they never did anything much than making out and he’s pretty sure the chick hated Terezi’s guts beforehand. He knows why, too- he’s pretty sure everyone in their damn little town does because of Terezi’s way with words, and maybe that’s why he’s so anxious to get rid of the ginger.

Vriska was a shiner in their town- someone not to fuck with. You’d go quiet if she walked by and you’d listen to every word she had to say. She was a bully, yes, but she had her reasoning, she’d say. Turns out, she really did, and Terezi exposed the first chance she got.

The two were never really friends, something to do with a past fight involving some other people he never really paid attention to. Point is, though, Terezi wanted revenge for that and she damn well got it.

He isn’t sure how she figured out about Vriska’s past and no one else is either, but the story started to surface. Vriska, living alone in an apartment, all because she has no one else. Her sister is a hot shot soc at college, years older than her that no one remembers. So, if she has the money, and better yet, the house and car, why not be a soc? Why reduce yourself to lying to your friends and building up a barrier- why not become some fancy, American dream child who can buy whatever they want and never have to polish their shoes?

And sure, be whatever you want. Vriska fits in well and makes the bill work for her, yet why? That was everyone’s question and it turns out, her childhood isn’t too far off from his- which is probably the most terrifying part.

Vriska was born into a soc family- an American dream home, indeed. White picket fence and all, living in the higher up parts of town with shiny new cars and a mansion big enough to have four of his own home. What was the downside to this fairy tale? A shitty soc dad who beat her mom until they finally divorced, something hard to do now, but even more hard to do in the 50’s, much less the 30’s. This left Vriska with a mom who didn’t exactly know how to function outside of the control of her husband and with a sister who ran off the first chance she got, seeing no hope.

And there wasn’t.

Despite how Terezi always gets tight lipped whenever someone asks what happened next, she never tells. Her eyes gleam and a wicked smirk goes across her face, truth and lies dancing behind her shades. She knows how to play her cards, though. Black mail is something she makes her bitch, always shaking her head. She got her vengeance and Vriska was crushed, everyone’s respect for her being reduced to a title- a soc who pretends to be something they’re not.

 

So, Dave’ll have to play it easy and count his deck of cards. Trace his steps and retrace- not let anger consume him because of something Terezi thinks he owes her. He’s on her vengeance list and he needs to get off of it as soon as possible.

 

 “Hey, Dave. Nice to see you again after last night.”

Too bad it’s not always that easy.

 

A breath of silence and Dave tries to play it cool, putting his wallet back into his pocket as he raises an eyebrow. “Yeah. Nice to see you, too.”

“Mhmm… So, how are you? Feeling alright? Everything _straight_ in your life?”

He sucks on his teeth. So they’re playing this shit are they? “Yeah, I’m damn dandy. Just buying gas, which I need to pump now, if I could just side step by you ladies.” He says it simply and about as unimpressed as possible, because she’s tried every damn thing in the book to get a reaction out of him. Things like ‘Oh, Dave, are you a _virgin_ to coming here?’ and even a real low blow, such as ‘You never take off those shades, Dave. You’re _abusing_ them.’ Really, he isn’t sure what the Hell her goal is in this. He already knows he’s fucked, leave him alone, would you?

“Oh, are we in your way?” Sure, feign innocence. He sees the smirk pass from Terezi to the other girl and he finally snaps a bit, rolling his eyes and going to side step past them. The other girl goes to step in front of him and he puts a hand on the sandy haired girl’s side, pointedly shoving her away. His jaw tenses.

“Yeah, actually. You are.” He says it with about as much venom as he can, because he doesn’t care for games like this. Games that only benefit the one drawing and playing the cards while he is a pawn to be tossed around and poked at. He had enough of that last night and even more so during every second of his life, planning to endure nothing more today. He’s going to go home or just park his happy, little car somewhere and stay there. Maybe he can buy a newspaper and play Sudoku. Anything but the bullshit he’s experiencing right now, ignoring the scandalized look the girl throws him and how Terezi pauses in mild shock, head quirking in what he can imagine is a glare and a promise of his demise.

 He walks away.

 

He knows he did a bit too much. He knew that before he did it that it was going to be a bit too much, but really, all reserves had left him at that point. He’s done with Terezi trying to fuck up his life and reveal whatever secrets she thinks he has, the male filling up his tank as he watches her head back to her car and soon enough speed off. Whatever. He has better shit to do.

Shit like… going home? Yeah. That seems like a proper thing anyways, the male deciding that maybe that is the best course of action. Cool off a bit, perhaps. So, he fills up his car and then hops in, driving on home.

It doesn’t take long at all, of course, the male a tad bit surprised when he sees his brother’s motorcycle parked in front of their house again. He swears he can hear a bit of swearing and perhaps the crash of something but… no. He swallows a bit and rubs the back of his neck as he turns off his car, getting out hesitantly. He decides to not lock his car and instead toss his keys inside, just for emergencies. He tries to tell himself this isn’t an emergency either and that maybe it’s the TV. He heads up to his house and he opens the door.

It wasn’t the TV.

He determines that fairly quickly, pausing in the doorway with the door shutting behind him as he watches his brother. His Bro, who is in a flurry of some kind that he has never seen before. His brother is dressed in his typical white top and hat- his shades are even on, still. He’s still got his gloves and his boots on, too, making Dave pause with regret as he watches the other scour throughout the house, flipping over pillows and boxes that he had left. His eyes follow his brother as he tears through the kitchen, tossing over pots and pans, even a few cups. He flinches.

He goes to take a step back and leave, but it’s a moment too late, his brother’s eyes having caught a new victim. “David.” He holds his breath and bites his tongue.

“Yes, sir?” It comes out quiet and shielded of the fear he is feeling, the male’s arms paused at his side, fingers digging into his palms painfully. He feels like the prey of some starving predator who has just found its new meal, hesitantly taking a few steps forward as his brother motions him with his fingers.

“Did you clean the room?” He clenches his jaw tighter. He thought he was doing something _good_. He tried to do something good and it- oh god- he didn’t- it’s-

“Yes, sir.”

“Did you touch my things?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Why did you touch my things?” That cool, stone cold voice is now roaring with rage, louder and more venomous, eating up and burning at the frozen male. He can’t get his mouth to work and behind his shades, his eyes squeeze shut, mouth opening and then closing. Hands grab him.

“Why aren’t you answering me, David?” It’s almost yelled now and he shakes his head. He’s eighteen- too old for this. Too strong for this- Too much for this-

But he’s not as strong. And he’s not as old.

Hands, soft for once, take off his shades. They grab them tightly and put them to the side, the only gentle thing Bro has ever given him. He only protects the shades because they cover his marks. That’s when he knows he’s done for.

And, he’s correct. The question is repeated and he has no answer again, trying to keep ruby eyes open to face the cold, slick, reflective surface of the shades staring back at him. All he sees is his own terrified reflection and pain.

 

Everytime this happens, Dave feels young. Not in the way other people mean it, though. He doesn’t feel exhilarated or happy- he feels fourteen, the age when teachers and friends started really asking what his home life was, because the cuts started to become visible and the bruises didn’t heal as fast as they used to.

He feels like a child faced with a monster that he will never defeat, invisible handcuffs weighing his wrists down so that they will never raise in defensive or protection unless commanded to.

Today, he isn’t commanded to, and perhaps that’s worse.

It means today he is given no chance- this is not a battle, but rather just a beating. He is a dummy meant to take the force of this anger he has accidentally brought upon himself while trying to do something good for once- to make amends for something he had no control over.

Something that should not have as much weight as it was granted.

But, it does not matter. He is beaten anyways and has the price of memories cut into him, dropped to the floor afterwards as if he is the trash he was cleaning up just a few hours before.

His legs are unsteady as he goes to rise, urged on by his own heart racing and the panic flashing inside of his mind. His fight or flight was already yelling at him to get it and he was unable, but now he has a split second chance- something rarely afforded to him. His brother is distracted, yelling something about how Dave makes this hard on him. How he leaves Dave alone yet the other can’t seem to obey simple rules. He’s caught up in himself, throwing couch cushions around again as he stumbles to his feet, fumbling for his shades as he limps out.

A shout of an order reaches him a few seconds after his fingers touch the door handle, pushing it open as strongly as he can. Once the door gives and he gets it open, the just about falls over himself to get out. He places heavy feet onto the ground and listens to the door smash closed behind him, the male turning to watch his brother gaze at him coldly, shades revealing none of the inner anger Dave knows lies inside of him. A movement for the door, the handle of a knife- already covered in blood- gripped tightly by the other, and Dave remembers how to move again. He reaches his car as fast as he can, locking the doors once inside and snatching the keys up. He jams them in quickly, hands shaking as he turns the car over a few times and finally gets it in reverse, speeding off with the view of his brother on the porch embedded in his mind.

 

He drives to the park. It seems like the only safe place to go, especially on a Saturday afternoon. The reasoning is that everyone will be at the diners or scuffling by the school, as is popular. he decides to add in another little layer of security by going to a more abandoned park as well, which is really just made up of a few trees and some benches; an old rusted slide and some swings that were broken a decade ago.

It’s safe, unlike his home, which has become a trap for death. His death.

He knows that and it’s a fact that haunts him, chilling his bones as he pulls up to the park. A few moments pass as he tries to gather himself- tries to hold back whatever feelings are eating up at him.

But he can’t.

And he breaks.

Sobs wrack the male’s body and he cries out for anybody and anything, salty tears burning his wounds and making him cry harder. Everything is pain and blood and he stays there for a while, wallowing in his own despair and hopelessness.

Yet, he somehow manages to carry on, every time.

He has to.

Giving up is not an option he will ever consider, the male taking a few heavy breaths and wiping away his tears. Blood smears across his face and pain stings through every part of his body, his throat burning on his own cries.

He’ll make it through this.

He has places to go to and people to meet- he has experiences that are waiting for him

_He has a chance to be better than what his brother has made of him._

So, he gathers himself up.

He finally shuts off his car and brings down the mirror to take a good look at himself, shades discarded in the passenger seat beside him. A quick examination of his body finds that his nerves have been lying to him- not in the fact that they’re over compensating, but rather under. It’s a lot worse than he feels and he determines that maybe a few homemade stitches may need to be made- there’s no way he could ever go to the ER or hospital with something like this. Not only is it expensive, but the long signs of abuse that are carved into him would be tell tale of something more sinister at hand.

So, he takes care of himself like he always has.

He uses alcohol and his shirt- which he takes off, spots of it covered in blood- to wipe off his wounds. His cheek is already bruising and his eye is, too, Red clouded by the overwhelming purple and blue around it. His lip is split again and his nose is busted a bit, the male being ginger as he wipes away at it. It stings yet he’s silent, more concentrated on making sure that his wounds don’t get infected and he’s not a bloody mess. He’s at least smart in that little aspect.

Next comes his wrists- they’re bruised all around, held tight in a cruel grip. No skin was broken but he rubs over them gently anyways, trying to bring back some blood flow and hopefully ease in their healing. Just to make sure, he grabs some ice and puts it on them and his nose for a minute, sitting there. Blood drips from the ice and into the shirt, causing splotches of red tainted water to swirl into soft patterns on the white fabric. He sighs.

He moves onto his chest and arms then- there’s slices. For some reason, using his fists just wasn’t enough. It never is. Bro always comes out with a knife and insists for  to briming out his own and have a knife fight, usually resulting in cut knuckles and palms. This time he had no weapon and he bears the injuries of being a dummy to throw and beat around, the fight a blur in his mind. He has cuts littering his biceps, though. All shallow and sporadic, made when Bro was throwing him around and yelling for something, an answer to a question he can’t answer. His chest is the same, with heavier gashes, instead. They linger on his sides and whenever he curled into himself, a few stray marks must’ve hit his forearms, he notes, while he cleans up his body. The homemade stitches are needed whenever he really examines just how damage the gashes have done, though. His previous scar has been sliced through, the winding mark having two slashes through it horizontally. He worries at his lip as he examines them. He had to stitch up the scar before and he doubts this will be much better, although at least this time he doesn’t have the threat of bleeding out.

 

Time passes and he finishes. He’s was limping due to the gashes on his side, his legs always being left alone besides stray bruises and welts left from being shoved into furniture or walls. He has more injuries as well- odd marks and bumps. Cuts caused by mere blunt force. Yet, none of those quite matter. He’s used to them and if he counted all his scars he’d never finish, stitching up his side laboriously. All the pain merely blends together and by the end of it, him washing his bloody hands off with the few water bottles he has. A bloody puddle has been formed right outside his driver’s door, him avoiding it as he steps out and sighs a bit, rubbing his hands over his face.

This is where he breaks again.

Now that all the hard work is done- analyzing injuries, making sure nothing serious was hit. He’s bandaged up now and has gauze on his wounds, stitched up- comes the next batch of fear. Here comes the next batch of Hell and pain to rain onto him.

Where does he go?

He went to the park, yes, but that was a safe place for this small moment. Somewhere to clean off and tend to his wounds, like an animal of prey being forced from its home in order to survive.

Yet, where does it go then?

He slams the door of his car shut and licks his lips, spitting out blood again as the male goes to carefully amble over to the benches. He’s slid a new shirt back on, black this time. He never planned on wearing the shirt, to be fair. He’s not even sure where it’s from, but it covers the bloody spots leaking through the gauze and bandaging, so it works. It lets him pretend for just a moment, the male doing exactly that.

He pretends.

He pretends that he isn’t running from home and a too far gone brother, sitting down on the bench and gently feeling at the bark of a tree next to him. He pretends that he isn’t cut and bleeding and that the pain wracking through him doesn’t exist. The wetness on his cheeks is instead rain and he’s harboring under a tree, watching the sky darken with night.

He pretends he’s okay.

 

Dave stays there for a while. He dozes off at times, allowing the tiredness to drag him under, but always waking soon after to the pain stabbing at him. This continues for a while, the male briefly noting another cherry red car that passes every so often, but he doesn’t think too much of it. This isn’t the most popular route, but it’s also not that uncommon, especially with the day growing older. Yet, it still strikes him as odd when a black car rolls up to the park, slowly. He almost doesn’t recognize it for a moment, eyes half lidded against the sun, until he sees a form step out.

It’s John.

He blinks a bit and starts to sit up whenever he realizes this fact, eyes widening. Why is he- what is-? Dave’s eyebrows furrow and he feels a startling amount of unease hit him, the male swallowing as he shifts on the bench. Yet, yes. That’s John. The male is dressed in a soft green shirt today, a black vest over that. He looks as spiffy as ever, much different from the mess that Dave is. He continues coming closer, though, making Dave hold his breath until they make eye contact.

“Dave?”

It comes out quiet, perhaps even worried, making the red eyed male swallow and divert his gaze. He doesn’t have his shades on, bearing the true force of his injuries for once- at least on his face, that is. A blossoming black eye and a bruised cheek and jaw face John as Dave tilts his head down as well, as if trying to deflect the attention. He swallows.

“Hey, John. What’re you doing here?” It’s painfully nice- a sort of pleasantry that he’s trying to spit out, voice a bit rough and gravelly as he speaks. Perhaps it’s from the pain or fear that eats up at him- the overwhelming sense of getting betrayed is rising up in him.

John is going to leave him.

He’s been expecting it for a while now, really. The person he cares for most will spit in his face once the gravity of the situation hits them, leaving him completely and totally alone.

He’ll have nothing.

Except, that’s not quite it. John hasn’t left and he’s still watching Dave with caring blue eyes, going to carefully sit beside the other. It takes him off guard, really, making him look up now and inhale slowly. The breath stabs at his lungs and his side stretches painfully, the male’s face contorting to show it. John notices this, though. Of course. John notices the most important thing and soft as ever, he gently goes to place a hand on the injured greaser’s side, leaning closer. It startles the male even more and his eyes widen, the male moving back as if he’s been burned. Pain jolts through his side again and he hisses lightly, going to place his own hands across it. If he keeps up with all this moving he’s going to rip his stitches-

“Sorry.” The words come out gentle and he looks back to John, who’s still watching him. His blue eyes are still just as caring and he has his hands in his lap instead, looking guilty, almost. That eats at him.

“No- it’s… it’s fine. I know you were only trying to help.” He answers just as quietly and he chews at his lip lightly, watches as John nods, eyes meeting eyes. It’s blue and red and in his mind, they mix and make a gorgeous lilac. He only wishes he knew what John was thinking, too.

There’s no need for it, though, a few moments of silence passing before the black haired male finally speaks again,

“So… uh… are you alright? I know it seems dumb to ask but, I just,” He’s fumbling a bit, hands fidgeting in his lap and his cheeks taking a gentle pink color. Dave’s eyes look over those cheeks and examine the color- how it blossoms on his tan skin and how lovely it looks. He holds his breath.

“No, no- it’s good. It’s not dumb,” he clears his throat, “And I appreciate the concern. I’m alright. I patched myself up earlier.” Another little moment of silence and he’s is tempted to bounce his leg, anxiousness rising in his stomach, but he decides against it. The possible pain it could draw out doesn’t seem worth it. “So, why did you stop?”

There’s another moment of silence- something that seems to be rather prevalent in this situation- while John seems to debate a possible answer. Why does he hesitate? What is there to explain or say? Dave still can’t remember how to breathe.

“I just… uh… saw your car here. I know you usually don’t use your car either and it was just… you, alone. You’re wearing a black shirt, too, and sort of looked passed out. I didn’t want to drive by in case you were really hurt or needed help.”

_He cares._

_He stopped because he cares about you._

_He was worried that you were hurt and wanted to help._

Dave still can’t breathe. Everything is so, so much. Everything weighs down on his shoulders and John is… a factor in it. John’s a big factor in everything he does, really, the male watching him with wide eyes and a partially opened mouth. He almost wants to cry, the weight of those words dropping into him and bowling him over, mentally. They shout out at him and he half thinks he’ll start to sob here, finally taking a slow, slow breath.

_Breathe._

“Well… thank you.” He isn’t sure what to do and the gratitude he feels isn’t shown in the slightest by that little word, the male biting at his lip. He regrets it almost instantly as well, because in the next moment it starts to bleed, making him flinch a bit and curse. Blood dribbles down his chin and he feels embarrassed by it wholly, the male having nothing to dry the blood up with… except his shirt. Despite the complications it could cause, he ducks and lifts his shirt anyways, wiping at his lip, quickly,

“Oh, Dave.” It’s said so quietly that he almost misses, but he doesn’t. It’s hard to miss something when it has that amount of sorrow and sadness bleeding into it, the greaser pausing as he slowly puts his shirt back down and looks to John. John, who looks so crushed.

He bites his tongue and his eyes divert the male coughing a tiny bit. “It’s nothing.”

“Dave- don’t say that. That’s a lot more than nothing.” Another little shrug from Dave and he swears he feels tears filling up his eyes- but why? He’s dealt with this his whole life and always lied. Why does this one person get to fuck that up? Why does John get to make him emotional and feel crushed, why does John-?

John leans close. A hand goes to Dave’s side and he’s looking down at it, examining the marks. Examining the greaser’s scars and pain, how he’s stitched himself up. Another hand goes to hold his cheek, rubbing over the soft bruises and cuts there. He flinches from it lightly, but John doesn’t remove his hands. He feels the heat from the other’s body instead and they stay there for a moment, staring. Looking at the other and examining, one teary eyed and the other filled with wonder, leaning and leaning and-

They touch. It’s everything Dave’s ever dreamed of and he almost thinks the universe has pardoned the rest of today. Their lips touch and John doesn’t move and he doesn’t. Neither pull apart and he moves a hand to touch John’s side. Another he moves to rest on the blue eyed boy’s hand, John’s thumb gently feeling across his cheekbone so softly. It’s perfect. It’s sweet. It’s everything he’s ever dreamed of-

And it’s his nightmare in a matter of seconds.

“Well, Dave If you didn’t like me because I don’t have a _dick_ you could’ve just told me.”

Dave’s never felt so broken by so little words.

In a matter of seconds, John is shoving away from him. Both have wide eyes, but he can feel his heart crushing up and dying. He can hear his death now, beckoning to him as John looks at him with hateful, suddenly cold eyes. There’s fear lurking in there, but it doesn’t matter as the other stands and wipes off his mouth as if it was involuntary, spitting out a forceful,

“He kissed me! I’m not a _fag_. I would never be such a god damn _abomination._ ” John spits on the ground for extra affect.

_John spits on the ground._

His jaw tenses. Tears are rising in his eyes and overflowing down his cheeks, the male listening to John’s scorn and how Terezi laughs. He hears the rev of her engine, as if taunting him, and the cackles of her friends. Their laughs- John’s betrayal-

Dave snaps in a different way.

“Well, we always knew Dave was a _special snowflake!_ He’s never been able to pretend very well. So many secrets. Those cuts and those bruises? They-“

“Shut up.”

“Oh, what was that? He’s so quiet, all those tears! Did you-“

“I said, _**shut up!**_ ” He shouts it this time and his hands are clenched into fists, the male standing up. His eyes are furious and his jaw is clenched, the male narrowing his gaze onto Terezi. She looks shocked and so does John, the male’s fear shining through this time.

“You’re a bitch. You’re the biggest bitch I’ve ever met in my fucking life. You take pleasure in ruining peoples’ lives. Why? What do you have to hide, huh? What the fuck are you compensating for?” He shouts it with his anger boiling over, rising up and spilling everywhere. He turns to John though, watching him try to inch away.

 “And don’t you think you’re fucking innocent! You’re a bastard! _You’re a god damn bastard._ And guess what, John? No. This isn’t nothing. This is you lying your ass off because you don’t want to face the reality I’ve already seen.” He spits it out viciously and more tears roll down his cheeks and he goes to walk towards his car, forcing himself not to limp. Now isn’t the time for weakness, even if he feels blood drip down his side and soak into his shirt. He goes to shove past John and the male raises a hand, mouth opening-

“Don’t say a fucking word, John. I don’t want to see you ever again- I don’t want to see either of you for the rest of my life!” He shouts it and John steps aside, eyes hardening again into stone. He doesn’t look to see what Terezi is doing either, the male getting into his car and slamming the door shut. Not giving himself a moment to even breathe or cry, he starts it up and reverses, setting off with a roar of his own engine.

He’s ruined.

 

He drives and he’s not sure for how long. He drives until the urge to cry has passed for the most part, although he’s pretty sure it won’t pass completely for a while. He’s ruined.

Better yet, _destroyed_.

He has no one.

He has no one and he has nothing. He’s bleeding again and really, although it’s external, it might as well have been internal, too. He hurts enough for it to be, finally stopping on a little side road and parking. He’s pulled over and just stops… and cries. He cries and sobs, sitting there until he doesn’t have tears to cry anymore. It’s late now and he’s sure the news is blazing through the town, outing him and painting John in some scandalized light.

Perhaps that’s what hurts the most.

Right when he thought he was getting a break- right when he thought _he had it._

It slipped right through the cracks and he’s back where he started, if not worse.

The male sighs. He stays where he is for a long time, head pressed against the steering wheel, until he finally convinces himself to get out. The scent of iron in the car it’s a bit strong and he’s bled through the shirt and onto the seats, but he can’t bother himself to look or bother with it right now. He has no reasoning to. He’s socially and, probably will be soon, physically dead. He’s a wanted man worth nothing.

The only bounty on his head is love.

It hurts. It makes him start to cry again and he bites his lip, not caring when blood starts to drip down his face again. It might as well. He prefers physical pain over all of the hellish mental battling he’s doing, trying to figure out a way to carry on. Trying to work up an idea- anything- what does he do?

Lights shine in his face.

It’s darker now, the sun almost set, and headlights shine in his face. He blinks and he lifts an arm to cover himself, leaning against the hood of his car. He can’t see the color of the car and distantly wonders who is it- who will scorn him now and pummel him into the dirt? Who has come to ruin him and destroy his life even more, if possible?

The car stops and the lights go off, revealing the color of the car to be a soft sort of Jade, him blinking a bit and narrowing his eyes as his vision adjusts. He doesn’t know anyone with a Jade car so who could it be? Would a random person really stop after hearing the news to beat him up and have a piece of him? The answer strikes him as _yes_ and he swallows, about to open his mouth or get into his car to defend himself, when…

A black heel is placed on the ground and a blonde bob of hair comes up, Rose’s pink eyes staring at him worriedly. He deflates. He sags against his car now and he can feel tears rising up, now happier and relieved, because Rose… Rose, he trusts. Rose has never said a bad word against him or questioned him. She’s only ever protected Jade, yes, but she’s done the same as him before. Dating guys a few times and dropping them. He always found it peculiar, but… The driver gets out now, chocolate brown hair and green eyes watching him.

It clicks.

He could really cry now. His face relaxes and he goes to hide it in his palms, sniffling lightly. God, even he didn’t- He’s an idiot. An idiot, yes, but a happy idiot now. He soon comes to look up again to face Kanaya and Rose both now, smiling gently. It’s a painful sort of smile that really replicates more of a grimace the longer he holds it, finally dropping it as the pair come towards him. Kanaya has a gentle hand on Rose’s back and the two lean into each other, himi sniffling a tiny bit more as he examines them.

They understand and they’re scared.

He can tell by their eyes and how they glance at each other, Rose taking a few steps towards him and Kanaya staying back. The pink eyed girl brushes a few hairs out of his face and she looks at him carefully, but lovingly; the one sister he’s always wished for, but never had.

“I’m sorry. I know it doesn’t mean anything and my words can’t protect you in the slightest, but I’m sorry. I should’ve talked to you about it sometime- sucked up my own fear. I’m sorry.” Rose says it gently and there’s remorse in her tone, him looking up at the girl and shaking his head. He goes to cup her cheek and rub his thumb against it softly, brotherly, the male smiling gently before he drops it again. He sighs and looks back at the ground.

“Oh, no, Rose. That wouldn’t have stopped me- this… this was going to happen no matter what. Terezi was going to use that and prove it somehow. Stir a rumor or force me into a situation- make me flounder. That or the abuse, which we both know she’s not afraid of flaunting if it counts against someone.” He says it sourly and laughs a bit, looking up to the sky now. It’s so hard to look at someone- to accept the looks he’s getting. Sadness and pity… perhaps a bit of lost hope and fear now. He feels bad for this- bad for ruining the bubble of peace Kanaya and Rose had. They’ll have to be more careful now, surely. At least they are that, though. Careful. He certainly wasn’t. He thinks about it angrily, too, turning upon himself mentally before a soft hand draws him out.

It’s Kanaya this time, her and her motherly mannerisms making the male soften. He sighs a tiny bit and his shoulders relax, red eyes focusing on her murky, dark green ones.

“Please, do not turn upon yourself. I have seen far too many people do that. It is not your fault, although I know you believe it to be so. You are correct- Terezi would have said something no matter what. She is ruthless and horrible. What is more important is your safety and what you will do next.” She speaks quietly and urges a slow nod out of him, the male swallowing again. Both girls let go of him and go back to each other, curving into one another. Kanaya holds Rose by her waist and the other does the same, Rose’s head tucking under her girlfriend’s chin. They stand like that for a moment, as if needing the other to stand.

He takes a slow breath.

If they are an abomination, then the people who say so clearly don’t know beauty. He says that to himself, trying to convince himself of more positive feelings. Kanaya and Rose- they’ve made it. They’ve got it. They’re safe, even in this time. They have each other and they manage and even if he is struggling to even breathe right now, it’s hope. He holds onto it and he nods a bit to himself, watching the girls and convincing himself that this isn’t the end of anything. He’s not giving up.

Giving up is never an option.

More minutes pass and eventually the girl’s separate, Rose coming back to join him as Kanaya moves to wait in her car. The two sit beside each other for a few more moments then, both teens feeling equally as lost, perhaps. He doesn’t know. Rose is an old soul, he’s sure. She’s wise and smart and she’s got things he doesn’t. But he has things she doesn’t. They work.

“I want you to promise me something, Dave.”

 “Hm?”

“No, like, seriously. Look at me.”

He glances over to the girl, breaking his eyes away from the sky where the stars are just starting to appear. Rose has a serious look on her face, perhaps a bit nervous, the girl awaiting him to meet her gaze. Once their eyes lock, she sighs and goes to take his hands, quietly speaking, just between them.

“I want you to leave the first second you can.” She speaks it with a certain amount of force that catches him off guard- like she knows something he doesn’t. She always seems to do that- know things she shouldn’t. He doesn’t question it.

“Alright.” He speaks just as quietly and Rose stays there for a moment, holding his hands and rubbing over his knuckles gently. She’s soothing him, he realizes. It makes him feel chilled down his spine, just for a moment.

Rose is something not even he can understand.

“Good. That’s… that’s all. Be safe, Dave. Please.” She says ‘please’, again, in that same tone. It strikes him with another chill and he swallows, nodding as she lets go of his hands and goes to head back to Kanaya’s car.

“Alright. Bye, Rose.” He says it softly and it’s like it gets caught in the wind, the male watching as they drive off. It’s dark now and he can hear crickets chirping, a chill taking to the air. His shirt has dried to his side with blood and he goes to lay in the back seat of his car, using his jacket as a pillow. He’ll clean up tomorrow, too, he determines, laying on his back and watching the ceiling of his car.

He swallows hard and closes his eyes.

He didn’t promise Rose.

He won’t make promises he can’t keep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, that was somethin' huh? I hope you enjoyed it!  
> Next chapter though... get ready, aye?


	3. Things We Lost In The Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Things we lost to the flame  
> Things we'll never see again  
> All that we've amassed  
> Sits before us, shattered into ash
> 
> When loneliness came and you were away  
> Oh they told me nothing new,  
> But I love to read the words you used  
> These are the things, the things we lost
> 
> we were born with nothing  
> And we sure as hell have nothing now  
> You said we were born with nothing  
> And we sure as hell have nothing now
> 
> Do you understand that we will never be the same again  
> The future's in our hands and we will never be the same again"  
> -  
> Dave survives a few months, survives a single day, and then realizes what his only option left is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! Some very important warnings for this chapter, so please read the lil' brackets ya see below.  
> Also, welcome to chapter three, the turning point! If you've made it this far, congrats. Ya get a lil' reward.  
> You're welcome.
> 
> [Suicidal thoughts and almost an attempt. NOT graphic or violent in any way but still described. You have been warned.]

September was a month as cruel as any, but perhaps, as leaves fall and the weather grows colder and colder, the universe changes with the weather.

It’s been two months now since the incident and December is knocking at the door. It’s not quite here yet, the 28th of November taking its place instead, although Christmas lights are being strung and Houston is becoming as cold as it ever has. All trees have lost their leaves and frost nips at the ground in the morning, the dew becoming white with icy crystals. Of course, it all melts away by the time the sun comes out, yet the chill still seems to creep into his heart and freeze him over.

As time goes on, he grows as cold as the air he breathes.

There’s reasoning for this, of course. Although Rose and Kanaya had stopped and visited him that night, speaking to him; warning him to leave and that the times to come would not be easy, but they would always have his back. Yet, he’s found that his world is collapsing faster than he thought it could, in ways he didn’t expect it to.

His car is his home, for one. He won’t risk going back to his house- or rather, his brother’s house- and end up getting hurt, or better yet, dead, which seems the most likely of outcomes. He sneaks into the gym to shower whenever he can, instead, slipping past inattentive clerks and praying they don’t notice the budding bruises on him and his empty wallet.

That’s something else, too. He’s broke. And this isn’t just the broke he was before, where he only had a twenty for groceries and had to scrounge for pocket change. This is that he has _nothing_. His wallet is empty and he has a few pennies left, save for that five dollar bill.

 And perhaps stupidity and death laugh at him every time he considers the bill and then puts it back, refusing to use it. He considers it giving up; spending the money is trading in a memory of kindness for something temporary that will spoil and be used much quicker and less worthwhile than what the cashier had done for him by gifting him that precious piece of green paper.

It seems stupid.

And maybe it is stupid. He has time for stupidity, though. He time to be idiotic and to treasure things that should have no meaning to him. He has time for many things and anything, really, because he has nothing.

His work? Gone. He gets maybe three or four hours _a week_ and at the end of the day, that’s not even enough to fill up his tank properly, much less buy groceries for food each week plus a bag of ice. It’s not only those costs either- it’s the cost of injuries and pain. While moving away from home- unwillingly, yes- you’d think that he would have less injuries, correct?

Incorrect.

His abusers’ hands are not his brother this time, but his fellow teens and children. Socs and greasers fight amongst each other, yet they somehow unite under a common mission: make Dave’s life a living Hell.

Well, they’ve succeeded.

He spends almost all of the time he _does_ have driving away, trying to not use too much gas, but if he leaves his car, it’ll surely get the tires on it slashed or  the cherry red sides keyed; windows smashed with dents in the doors, ruining it and his last hope of survival. So, he can’t. He has to take it with him and hide it in the woods whenever he trudges to work, bearing that one day of the week where he’s shoved away into the mechanic’s. He’s always under a car or hidden away, the owner of the shop- while pitying on him, slightly- not wanting the car owners to know that… well… _Dave_ is working on their car. It’s a sort of impact he didn’t quite expect, but it is, perhaps, the worse. It makes him crumble and crunch numbers more than he ever has before, growing anxious the colder it gets and the higher the gas prices go. The less hours he receives.

He’s watching his own death.

Yet, not quite. Not so fast and eager, Dave. Rose has his back, at least a little. She’ll come around and visit every week or so, bearing money and food. Kanaya bakes apparently and together, the couple cares for him in small, secret ways, besides advising him to leave once he has the money (or at least saves up for it) and knows where to go. They care for him and he is slowly developing a little savings account, shoving money away into the dashboard of his car every time Rose comes. He knows she takes it from her parents; she’s sacrificing her own money and what she could spend on herself for him. For someone who has the whole world against them.

He isn’t sure why.

He’s not sure of anything anymore, really. Plans he had when he was young, of leaving the house when he was a ripe eighteen, have all long died at the hands of this world. Now, he has to resurrect them and put them into action, and quick, if he hopes to ever escape this place.

But... is it even possible?

This has struck him multiple times- every thought that appears to him circulates his brain double, even triple, because all he has left to do is think. All he has left to do is try to figure a way out- figure out how to survive.

He doesn’t know if he can.

_He doesn’t know if he can._

If you ask him where to go, he’s blank. There’s nothing, because where is safe? Where will accept him, battered and bruised and _broke_ , in wallet and in spirit, and allow him to flourish again? Where will cater to him and let him start anew without the male spelling a new death for him at the end of another long, winding road.

Where can he find a way out?

He doesn’t. He has no ideas and no ideas come to him. Kanaya and Rose are silent every time he asks, because it’s not as if they have anything different. They aren’t even the ones who need to leave, either. Matter of fact, staying is safer for them. They have their parents behind them, cooing at them and guiding them through private school. They have friends who invite them to parties and to the movies; they have people who ask them on dates while they get to love each other secretly in the dead of night. Peacefully.

Their existence is better than his life has ever been.

Their current down is higher than his highs ever hope to reach.

_They are better than him in every way possible._

He’s come to accept this and everything else he’s faced with. When he gets caught and beaten down by the kids he once called friends, the male spattering blood along his car and the ground he walks, he accepts it. When he goes to sleep hungry and shaking from cold and pain, using the next day to scour for coins and change wherever he can, he accepts it.

He has no other choice.

He has nothing else in this world.

That’s the conclusion that reaches him on the 28th of November, frost wetting the bottom of his shoes as the male gets out of his cherry mustang. Time has passed- almost two months from the incident- and his thoughts have become the same blur.

His emotions are the same, or rather the emptiness and coldness that seeps into him has taken over everything else that may try to blossom inside of him, like a flame snuffed out within its first seconds of life. Rose and Kanaya visit less and less now, more occupied with their families and friends at this time. December is around the corner, after all, and Rose’s birthday is… two weeks away? Yes. She’s got friends who want to see her and parties being held. She has Christmas pageants clothes to make.

_She has a life to live apart from him._

Yet he has nothing.

So, he’s parked his car here. It’s by the first beam of the bridge, dark and rusted, with red and green Christmas lights looping along the bars. They glow at him and make him feel even more sour inside, the male despising their very existence in that moment. He hates their happy glow and how someone cares enough to string lights upon this bridge, yet not a soul can even sneak him a kind word.

_He means nothing anymore._

His thoughts are a broken record, repeating endlessly in a cycle of self deprecation and hate. Thoughts of _why, why, why_ strike him repeatedly and he has no answers, clutching his broken shades to his chest as he starts to walk up and onto the bridge. His shades were broken a while ago- smashed when he got punched in the face and tossed down by someone. He hasn’t left his car for the past few days, though. He’s been camped out in his car and slept, half willing himself to die easily like that, but no. Sunlight always hit his face and that’s why he’s here, isn’t he? To do what the universe has been trying to do. And it’s sick, really. He doesn’t look half bad for once. His side had healed long ago into two, long, ugly scars, melting into the previous one. His biceps and forearms are scarred from the attack, but most of his bruised have healed, most current, and all the older ones are gone. His eyes shine red clearly now, no purple or blue shadowing it, and even his nose has healed rather well. His knuckles and palms are a tiny bit skinned, sure, but he… He’s the most uninjured he’s ever been, given the circumstances.

Yet his insides are completely destroyed, mind ripped apart and heart trashed to shreds.

_He’s broken._

Thoughts circulate again and he licks his lips a bit as he continues on walking, finally pausing when he’s about a quarter down the bridge. It’s not a big bridge, but it’ll do. It’s high. There’s a deep lake below it, calm. Everything’s so _calm._ It’s early morning, perhaps six or seven am, and there’s no traffic. The dew and frost is still out and there’s a chill to the air, dawn just peeking out to the sky as he steps a foot up to take a place on the bottom of the bridge railing, the male grabbing onto the top bars afterwards. He can feel the wind drawing against his back now, rippling around him. The water is so… eerie. He can imagine it rippling and curling around him, the universe welcoming him then and reaping its prize of his pain. He takes one hand down and clips his shades to the front of his shirt, the male glancing around, one end of the bridge to the other. He sees a car, parked. It’s a nice vehicle, orange with black stripes. It’s paused, it seems, on the road where he came off of and parked. It’s right at that fork- where you can turn and drive onto the bridge or continue on straight. Yet, the car is doing nothing. The lights are on so it’s clear that someone is inside… watching, maybe? He almost huffs a dry laugh. Yes, someone is going to watch him swan dive. How glorious.

But, he doesn’t. The wind feels a bit more violent now and he licks his lips, eyes squeezing shut for a moment. His hands loosen, and then tighten, feeling the cold metal underneath. He swears he hears the car, near yet distant, turn its wheels on the gravel. He hears the crunching and he swallows, biting his lip and…

He lets go.

He takes a step back and allows himself to stumble back onto the bridge, a few tears trickling down the male’s face now. He felt fear, he thinks. Fear of really letting go- because inside, there’s still hope. Inside there’s still that possibility that someone or something will save him and help. Maybe today, Rose will visit. Or Kanaya. Maybe they’ll come and eat with him instead of just leaving. Maybe they can talk and he’ll finally make a plan and use his money- maybe he’ll find a safe place.

Maybe he’ll find another way out, but not this.

This isn’t the way he wants to go out, he decides. This is giving in- giving into the universe and her taunts. Giving into everything everyone has said and shoved at him, _even if he wants to so badly it hurts._ He can’t allow himself to. He wants to see Rose’s birthday- _he wants to see his own birthday._ It’s the 28 th, isn’t it? His birthday is December 3rd\- that’s only six days. He can be 19 in six days. _Just make it six days. Make it to your birthday._ A breath and a swallow, him rubbing at his face. _Make it to Rose’s birthday._ He drops his hands again and goes to get into his car, walking the distance back. He tugs open the door and then, as he’s shutting it, he swears he hears the grind of gravel underneath tires again. He hears the car leave.

He exhales slowly.

 

He decides to go to the gas station.

 It’s a cool Wednesday after all and… well, no one should be about. Most of the socs are at school and if they’re old enough not to be, he’s seen them pick up jobs recently or mainly hang around the diner. This only leaves the greasers to be trouble and usually they have jobs as well- besides, the gas station isn’t the most popular place to hang out. Especially when there’s so many parks and trouble to stir in the woods. So, he tries to not be worried. He starts his car up and then drives there, eyeing his gas gauge anxiously all the way. He should have enough to fill it up and decides, why not? There’s nothing else to spend the money on besides food and… well, he doesn’t have that much of an appetite lately and his hunger has become something that is background noise.

He’ll be fine.

Pulling up to the station, he pauses and checks his time. It blinks at him, 8:00am. He shrugs. Fair enough. After getting in his car on the bridge, he had waited for a while and just thought, about everything really. What to do and what he’s made of himself up until now. How Rose would feel and, really, if he does want to go out… he should at least talk to her first and allow her to understand or guide him away from the edge. Genuinely give her a chance to help before he takes that away and makes her regret it for the rest of her life. So, time has passed. He doesn’t know where the car that was watching him went, the male parking in front of the station’s doors. It’s empty and no one is around, save for the cashier inside.

The cashier inside.

It’s the kid- who, really, isn’t that much of a kid. He’s probably seventeen- eighteen? He’s eighteen, six days from nineteen. They’re really pretty alike. The kid is taller, sure. Dressed in the uniform for the gas station, which happens to be a blue t-shirt and some jeans. His hair is wavy and maybe a bit fluffed up and messy, blondey brown colors greeting the male’s eyes and shining in the light as Dave walks in. He has a sort of shy smile on, perhaps a bit awkward for his height and his body, like he hasn’t grown into it yet. He is a bit tall- Dave will give him that. He towers around 5’9 or up, making the greaser and his small 5’7 feel dwarfed. He’s sweet, though. He greets the male with a soft tone and shining, soft forest eyes, waving a bit. Dave replies with a nod and his head ducks a little, red eyes showing due to the smashed shades still clipped to his shirt front. He makes his way through the store, though, grabbing various items. A few water bottles and some snacks- beef jerky and maybe just some shitty chips. Nothing healthy, but certainly things that will get him by. That is the objective, after all.

As he goes to place his things on the counter, male reaching into his leather jacket pockets for his wallet, he hears the little bell on the gas station doors ting. His eyes flicker to it at the same time as the cashier’s, both met with an unfamiliar sight- or rather, an unfamiliar person.

He’s tall- he’s got blonde hair that’s almost as light as Dave’s, perhaps a few good shades darker, slicked back. It spikes due to this, sort of like a… a bird? He makes the resemblance in his mind and can’t help but be miffed by it a bit, the only thing throwing off the image being the male’s bangs, which dip down, right around his left eye. An eye, which is covered by a pair of shades, far more geometric and sharp than he’s ever seen before. They look like two giant ass triangles glued together and hey, maybe they are. Either way, this guy fits the greaser look. He’s tall and tan with gloves on, knuckle cuts out and finger cut outs on them, jeans rolled up and a white wife beater on. He’s got his leather jacket slung over a shoulder and he looks like a guy who really takes the greaser name to heart, with what seems to be mechanics oil and greaser spattered along his jeans.

If Dave is to be honest, it’s an attractive look. A look that keeps him gazing for a moment or so, used to being able to with his shades on, the male only catching himself once said male raises an eyebrow and quirks it in the other’s direction. The male, realizing he’s been caught, ducks his head a bit and looks back to the cashier, cheeks tinting pink. God. That was a real smart thing of him, surely. Especially in this mess of a town- he gives the cashier a careful look afterwards, but the kid only looks mildly amused, ringing up Dave’s purchases easily.

“So, you haven’t been in here in a while.”

The kid’s making small talk, possibly to ease whatever bullshit maneuver Dave just pulled out of the way, the male nodding and gazing outside the windows in the station. He can’t see any other cars out there- maybe they’re hid behind the newspaper stands and drinks stands? He can bet so, seeing as he can’t even see his own car. He was just curious, is all. What kind of car does that guy drive? How nice is it, honestly? Probably very, him giving another backwards glance and- no? He blinks. The man is nowhere to be found and he’s honestly surprised- he’s sure he would’ve heard the bathroom door open and the male’s so tall, he can just disappear like that or some shit. Yet, it seems that he has and Dave shakes it off, giving the cashier a soft smile. He’s glad he’s got one person on his side, it seems.

“Ah, yeah. I… don’t really have the money at this time- or a job.” He admits it a bit sheepishly, the male shrugging as he watches the cashier slow his pace when scanning. Maybe he wants to talk some more- Dave wouldn’t be opposed to it. Talking to someone besides Rose or Kanaya is welcome.

“Yeah? I sort of figured so. I know it’s been pretty rough for you, ever since…”

“John and Terezi? Yeah, just a bit. I appreciate it, though. You don’t seem to be some bigotry fuck.” He jokes it lightly, the kid laughing a tiny bit and nodding.

“Yeah, that’d be pretty shitty of me. I don’t really see the big deal, anyways. I’m just sorry it had to happy in Texas of all places- and with John. If you look at the kid lately, he goes onto a rant about how hetero he is.” The kid- Sam, he finally figures out, reading it off of his name tag- is funny. He’s sweet and funny and Dave likes it. He appreciates how they can just… talk about it. There’s nothing needed and nothing said besides the truth, tid bits of reassurance and advice sprinkled in as they make small talk.

This continues up until he pays, adding another twenty to his pump, the male going to grab his bags and walk out the door. He wishes Sam a goodbye, casually mentioning that he still has the five dollars from that day.

He doesn’t think he’s ever seen someone’s face light up as much before in his life.

 

Once outside, he heads to his car. He gets in and drives to the pump he asked for the money to be put on- poor planning on his part- and then gets out again. Turns it off again- it’s really quite a process- and finally, starts to pump gas into his car. During this time, he’s putting the food up. Loading the ice he bought into his cooler, fishing out some jerky to eat. It’s all pretty simple and he’s relaxed for once. Chill.

Until he sees the orange and black Chevrolet from this morning, parked in front of the station.

It makes him light up with a sort of anxious fear, the male swallowing dryly. He tsks a bit and tries to ignore it, really, doing his best to pretend that its existence means nothing while he fills up his tank.

Until the owner of the car comes over.

It’s the man- or tall guy, whatever you want to call him. Dave’s a man technically, but he doesn’t feel like one when tall ass prances over. He has a smooth sort of gate and stride, perfectly fitting into his body and all of his long limbs. It’s different from how awkwardly Sam moves, with the other greaser walking with a confidence Dave once had but has long lost. He makes Dave hold his breath.

“So, this is your car here?” His voice is different from what he expected- but he also isn’t really sure what he expected. Perhaps… not Southern? Yet it’s there. It’s a Southern tone that tings and drawls low and rough, reminding him of his own voice yet not quite. He nods.

“I’d sure hope so, considering I’m filling it up with gas.” He replies the best way he knows how- sarcastically. Maybe it can make some faux little shield for him or something of that sort, the male pausing and closing his car door, going to lean against it and look up at the other. “What’s it to ya?”

He’s got his leather jacket on now, which makes two of them. He looks good in it. Dave liked him before, without it, where he could see the black swirls and marks of tattoos he couldn’t quite make out. Yet, he likes this, too. He can see the muscles underneath and how he fits into the material snugly, which is worn. He’s older, probably. At least Dave’s age or more.

“Well, if this car is yours, and you are who I think and _know_ you are, you wanna tell me why you were about to swan dive off a bridge this morning?”

He swallows and his gaze narrows, going steely. “What if I don’t want to tell you?”

“Then I’ll just guess.” The male snips it right back and Dave can image a glare behind his shades as well, the male going to lean against Dave’s car and cross his arms. He’s got a bit of a sassy attitude and aura to him, doesn’t he? Dave huffs a breath.

“Go for it.”

“Well, if what I heard in the gas station is any indication of your situation,” He tsks a bit and mentally rolls his eyes. Fancy ass words. Who needs all that shit? He rhymed even, the fucker. “Then I’ll make a guess and say you went and outed yourself and now you’re broke, can’t get a job, have no money, and are relying on a few friends who, and I’ll bet on it, are also closeted.”

There’s silence and he feels defeated. Fuck this guy.

“And I’m going to assume I’m right.”

“Shut up. What do you want? What’s your name? What business do you have, in _my_ business?”

The male smirks at Dave. He thinks it could grow on him.

“Well, my name’s Dirk, and the business I have in your business, is that it used to be my business. Metaphorically, at least.” He shrugs. “I’m from here, Texas, but I’ve long since moved away due to a situation similar to yours- or something of the nature at least, although mine was probably worse for both parties involved and there was no denying we both liked dick.” He snickers and Dave’s lips quirk up in a smile a bit. Is it… odd, to feel at home with this stranger? To relate to him when he doesn’t know anything about him, aside from his name and now his sexuality? Perhaps, or perhaps not. He’s never met another gay male before- at least not one who would actually talk about it, like this guy.

“So, I can imagine that your situation is pretty fucked and that every prediction I made was correct. But, I have a solution. An offer, if you will.” Dirk shrugs a bit, leaning off of Dave’s car and rocking on his heels a bit now, nonchalant as he tucks his hands into his pockets. He seems to know everything and not even try to hide it- perhaps a bit of... arrogance, lingers? Dave’s not sure. Yet… he likes it.

“Well, Sherlock, what’s your fucking solution? Don’t leave me hanging here.” He finally pipes up after a moment of silence, the male hearing the gas nozzle click. He moves to take it out of his car and finish up, y’know. Close it up and all that, eyes flickering to the other again. He seems like a guy who’d make good company.

“My solution is Hollywood.”

He says it like Dave actually has a fucking clue what he means, the male blinking and then raising his eyebrow at the other.

“Wow, I’m so fucking impressed. Carry on, would you? I’m excited to hear more.”

Dirk snickers. “Hollywood isn’t just some place for hotshot models and movie producers- although it seems to be. It’s still a place for them, yeah, but the gay scene? God, it basically fucking fuels that town. It’s all underground of course and… you might have some trouble getting in, but you look like a twink enough to and I could help you out, if you want.”

A twink. What the fuck? He hasn’t ever heard that terminology in his life and his nose scrunches up a bit, the male ignoring it for a second as he disgests what he’s been told. Leave, to Hollywood of all places. _Hollywood_. It sounds like some shitty movie plot.

“Hollywood? That’s… seriously, do you think I’m in the position to just drive there and actually survive?”

Dirk huffs. Like he knew that’d be the reply. Maybe he did know.

“Yes, actually. If you’re desperate and gay enough you will, at least. Besides, what have you got here? A gas station kid who is secretly gay, but can’t decide yet and a supply of beef jerky? We have that in Hollywood, too. It’s not that amazing.”

He ighs. This guy is convincing him, somehow. He isn’t sure if he’s crazy, the guy’s crazy, or if they both are. Everything he’s said seems pretty fucking true, though.

“Okay, so say I am desperate enough. What do I do?”

“Well, you’ve got to be gay enough, as well, but I’m sure you are. First thing, get a job. It’s easy. There’s plenty of places hiring- gas stations with closeted kids included. Next, go to a gay underground club. And really, it’s as fucking awesome as it sounds. The Silverado is the best place to go, really- just hop onto the subway and if you meet at 31st there’s usually some guys hanging out by this one concert poster from 1942. If you go to them and either mention my name and where’s the Silverado- preferably both if you _really_ want them to know you’re a twink- then you’ll get in. They’ll lead you and it’s easy. Best gay club in all of Hollywood, if I may say so myself.”

A few more moments pass- perhaps a long few moment of silence. He licks his lips a bit and chews at one pretty hard, running his fingers over the keys in his hand, feeling the weight of it. He sighs.

“The Silverado? Are you serious? It’s named after a fucking car-“

“Look, us gays are creative, but not _publicly_. Would you really ask some strangers where the fucking Rainbow Gay Club and Bar is?”

He bites his tongue and Dirk nods. Dave can imagine the eyeroll behind his shades.

“I thought so, smartass. Now, it’s up to you. That’s all I’ve got to say. I’m offering you a way out- a _better_ way. No jumping off of bridges and shit, alright? There’s plenty of gay people who would be happy to kiss your tears away once you find them. Give it a few days.”

Dirk speaks, softly now, and Dave can tell he actually means it. He’s not bullshitting this and… well, Dave’s considering it. It’s a scary ass thing and he watches as Dirk goes to turn on his heel and walk away, the male hesitating before he says, “Hey, don’t you want to know my name?”

He watches as Dirk turns back and continues walking backwards, a chuckle leaving the male as he smirks. He reaches up and dips down his shades then, sunset orange eyes staring back at Dave as he winks. “Oh, honey. I remember the faces of the people I meet- besides, it’s hard to forget a pretty one, especially when they’re a twink.”

He gets into his car and Dave is left feeling oddly flattered, yet insulted all at once.

He thinks he liked it.

 

He goes to Rose next.

Er- rather, he hopes she’ll find him. He’s not really sure where she resides most of her day- except with her friends or Kanaya- so, it’s really just a luck of the drawn and hoping she’ll see him and notice that he, for once, isn’t hiding away in the woods. She hasn’t seen him because of that, with the male hiding himself away so far that no one could find him, including best friends who are merely trying to help. A dick thing on his part, yes, but there’s nothing more to discuss on it. He isn’t hiding anymore and instead… well, he’s rather out in the open. He stays like that for a while, residing at a park. It’s not at the park where _that_ happened, but rather another, different one, farther out of town. He knows Kanaya and Rose frequent here for dates sometimes, though, so he’s praying that either of them will find him- or both, maybe? It’s not as if he can pick up a phone and call them.

Well, he can.

The likely hood of them being home is slim, though, and the likelihood of their parents answering the phone instead and realizing its Dave, the _gay_ kid, and questioning said girl about it later, _is_ high though and not slim at all.

So that’s not really an option.

But, he waits. He sits on the swings and kicks his legs back and forth, car parked under a tree. It’s November so no leaves are fallen or crunching on the ground. Rather, it’s quiet and cool. The air nips at him as it grows darker and later with nothing in sight to occupy him, nor no girls named Rose or Kanaya appearing.

He’s really about to give up hope as well and trash everything- this new sort of hope and idea that… well, that he has a chance. That Hollywood is available to him and it’s a place to start- somewhere that will breathe new life into him..

But he can’t give it up, so he waits.

And he waits.

And, eventually, they come.

It’s really such a fantastic thing when that jade car drives by and then slows suddenly, turning to park beside his.  He honestly feels about as happy as he can in that moment- and given the circumstances- the male breathing a sigh of relief. He stops his swinging and goes to stand, stretching a bit and rolling his shoulders. He’s still got that memory of Dirk implanted in his mind from earlier, and maybe that’s what he was thinking about all this time.

What Hollywood is like and what he can do- the people he could meet.

The possibility of finding someone who loves him too.

The chance of finding the orange eyed male again.

He sighs a bit and shakes his head, as if trying to rid himself of the thoughts, watching as Kanaya and Rose both get out of the car. Kanaya goes around and opens the passenger door for Rose, helping her girlfriend out, both of them holding hands as they walk on over to him. They… look rather happy for once, to be honest. Perhaps it really is a date night, with how they’re both smiling and how they’re dressed up in that _just for each other_ way. Kanaya has a pair of earrings on that he knows are Rose’s and Rose has black lipstick on that’s a tint green, something he knows Kanaya favors. So, maybe it is a special night for them. His lips quirk a bit. He’s glad. He has good news for once, too.

“Hey, date night?” He asks it casually and both girls nod, leaning into each other again.

How come every time they see each other- Kanaya and Rose, plus him- it’s night? Because really, it is now. Or at least, it’s on the way to it. It’s almost dusk, the sun dipping behind the trees with the crickets and tree frogs starting to come out and sing their songs. It’s a soothing, sweet thing that he admires, looking between the girls and allowing another little smile to filter over his face. The two truly do wonders to him.

“Yes, it is. We were actually about to go to the icecream palor, but we have time, of course. It’s only Wednesday.” Kanaya talks this time, pressing a gentle kiss to Rose’s cheek and nosing there for a moment, both girls’ eyes fluttering shut as they lean and melt into each other. Maybe he would be grossed out by the display of affections usually, too, but he… he doesn’t think so. This just… feels so _real_. He knows what they’ve gone through to get here- to like each other- and how damn risky it is. How much they could lose at any moment… It wears on him in the best way possible.

It makes him want to have something like it.

So, he doesn’t interrupt the moment, waiting until the girls look back at each other and then him, Rose smiling softly and asking, “I see you’re out, though. May I inquire as to why?” It’s got a playful tone that’s rare these days, making him nod a bit and huff a gentle breath of amusement.

“Yeah, I uh… I think I have a plan. Like… a way out. I know where to go.” He says this softly, maybe a bit unsure, and both girls pause. They blink and Rose quirks her head a bit, Kanaya lighting up with a smile instead.

“Oh, do you, Dave? That sounds wonderful. Where to and how?” Kanaya asks, her chin resting on Rose’s shoulder, the two swaying gently.

He’s really going to miss them.

“Well, uh, I was at the gas station and this guy overheard me and the cashier talking. Apparently he was outed to and used to live here in Texas, so he moved up to Hollywood and is really involved in the underground scene now. There’s a community and everything and he… invited me into it, more or less.” He says it a bit carefully, unsure of their reactions, but… it’s all positive. Rose seems more comfortable once he’s explained and she nods, a gentle smile tugging at her lips. She brings a hand up and tucks some of her own blonde hair behind her ear, the bob length hair curling at the tips. Kanaya seems just as pleased as well, green eyes shining happily at this proclamation.

“That sounds wonderful, Dave. I assume you… trust this man?” She says it carefully, almost teasingly once he looks further into it, and he swears she’s smirking as he continues.

“Yes, I trust him. He’s a really tall greaser, actually, and…” He falters partially, clearing his throat a bit. He’s going to tell them about the bridge and everything but-

One look at them and it dies. Kanaya’s smirking and her eyebrows are raised, Rose looking up at her and the two giggling. Their noses bump and Rose rises on her toes, the girls kissing softly as he takes it in. His eyes go the sky and he lets out a slow breath.

Later. He’ll tell them later.

“…he just came up to me while I was pumping my gas and stuff. His name is Dirk and he’s a bit sarcastic, maybe arrogant, but nothing bad. I guess he was visiting family or something.” He says it lightly and shrugs a bit, both girls looking back to him finally and nodding.

“Well, he seems trustworthy at least. Besides, it seems like the best option. I believe that Hollywood has a secret gay scene.” Rose speaks and it comes across as so serious that it’s _not_ serious, making Kanaya snicker a bit and even he rolls his eyes.

“Oh, god, Rose. We know. Everyone in Hollywood is gay.” He teases it lightly and puffs out a slow breath, hesitating for another moment before he speaks, “But, uh… He has this really cool thing about him.”

“Oh?”

“He has orange eyes.”

He says it and, for once, Rose looks miffed. She’s dealt with issues relating to her eyes growing up as well, and even now. Less so than his, since his are bright red, but she’s had her own struggles. Pink eyes are seen as slightly prettier, but not everyone thinks as such. Most people just pass it off as he and Rose being related someone then- and really, neither of them wants to look into it that much- so it’s nothing too important.

But someone outside of their little community having special eyes is.

Rose raises her eyebrows and even Kanaya looks surprised, the girl giving a little ‘hm’.

“That’s… interesting. I understand your intrigue with him now, besides the fact that he was probably just tall and hot and hunky.” Rose says the last few words teasingly and wiggles her eyebrows, making him laugh, finally. God, he hasn’t laughed in… so long. It’s amazing how Rose and Kanaya flip him- it’s amazing how this morning…

His breath catches a little and he swallows it down.

“Yeah, yeah. But… do you think it’s a good idea, y’know? To… to go. I don’t have money or anything…” He says it with a puff of breath, not really thinking about it, and surprisingly, Rose and Kanaya share a look. It’s a look of _well, we’ve got that handled_ and certainly not a look he was expecting.

“Follow us, Dave.” Kanaya says it simply and guides her girlfriend, arm around her waist, back to the jade car. He follows obediently, of course, wondering what the world they could mean.

He soon learns what they mean.

Kanaya opens the door and Rose slides into the driver’s seat, popping open the dashboard. Out comes money.

And this isn’t just a few dollars- this is… _this is a lot_. It’s a wad of cash… Of, of fifties and hundreds. Of tens and twenties. It leaves him a bit slack jawed and wide eyed, shaking his head a bit.

“No, no- I couldn’t- Rose. Kanaya.” He says it in disbelief and shakes his head more as the money is offered to him, Rose pressing it into his hands and chest.

“Dave, _please_. This is fine- this is our savings and… and it’s nothing. We have more money, I assure you.” Kanaya says it simply and her eyes are pleading, the girl frowning a bit and motioning for him to take it. His mouth opens a bit and he’s unsure- uncertain. He doesn’t know what to do. Oh, he can take it, but he feels so bad. He’ll never get to repay this, and what if Hollywood is a bust? What if he wastes all of this-?

 “Dave- _Dave,_ _please. You have to take it.”_ Rose suddenly speaks it and it’s oh so urgent, making him blink a bit and focus back onto her, eyes leaving the money. Her eyes and Kanaya’s eyes are away though, following something on the road. Soon enough, his eyes find it, too.

A motorcycle.

It must have slowed down and make itself go quiet once it saw the kids- and more specifically, the cherry mustang. It must have gone quiet and edged itself to the other side of the park, where it is now, it’s owner turning it off.

Its owner with blonde hair and shades.

Its owner with a knife in hand.

“Dave0 _Dave, take it, please.”_

“Go- Dave! _Go!”_ Kanaya is speaking now, more urgently than before, physically taking his wrists and opening his palms for Rose to shove the money into. She does so, Kanaya taking a few steps back then, reaching into her purse. Out comes a lipstick that she takes the cap off of, a blade releasing itself afterwards, long and silver and shining.

A knife for a knife.

He swallows and remembers how to move. He takes the money and nods, eyes glimpsing to his brother, who is calculated and moving slowly. His brother, who is taking off his helmet and then his gloves. Laying down the knife and straightening his clothes before he picks it back up again, turning to the teens.

“ _Dave.”_ Rose hisses it and shoves him lightly, the male glancing to her again. He feels like he’s caught- so unsure. His body is remembering what it’s been taught to do. To stay still and to accept- to not fight because it will only hurt more- yet his instincts are crying and shouting again, telling him to _leave_. This is the only way to survive, because he cannot fight his brother.

He will never be able to fight his brother and therefore he will never survive.

He swallows and opens his car door. Kanaya is still watching his brother, all the while, jaw clenched. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen a more vicious look in her usually soft eyes, the girl practiced in her stance as she bears the weapon. She’s clearly trained to use it before, him shoving the money into his car as he moves to slide into the driver’s seat then. His brother’s pace is a bit faster now- he’ll be here in a minute, tops, black glasses reflecting the red of Dave’s car- the red of Dave’s blood-

Dave starts the engine as Rose and Kanaya slip into their own vehicle, their engine roaring to life as well. He pushes his car into reverse, speeding out of there and turning on the road to roar off in the other direction, towards the interstate, the couple going the opposite way, off to their safe homes.

 

A knife gets stuck into a tree.

 

He drives off and a sort of dark sadness creeps into him, the same as earlier, but it doesn’t go far. A look at the money beside him births a deep determination that swallows up the sadness, filling him with only what he needs.

Strength and a hope that he’ll leave this town for good.

If he doesn’t, he’ll either end up dead at someone else’s hand or his own hand, he decides, swallowing as his car’s tires touch the interstate, the male pressing on the gas a bit more firmly.

The sun has gone down now, the moon rising in the sky with the stars blinking down at him. The radio is quiet with soft talk shows or the news, perhaps Johnny Cash or even Elvis if he finds a lucky station.

So, he rides and he thinks. He swallows his pride and debates how the day has gone.

He thinks of the little cashier with the bright smile and the sarcastic tone. His floppy hair and his shining eyes, so hopeful and wondrous and new. He thinks of Dirk at the gas station and his confidence- how he said he would help him and make sure he was accepted. How he said Hollywood would be open to him and that there was a community there- that he could be happy there and there, _people would be happy for him._

He thinks of tonight and his brother. He thinks of tonight and Rose and Kanaya and if he’ll ever see them again- how in love they are and how they’re managing. He wonders if they’ll ever leave that little town and maybe if they move away, how they could live together and have a family. He thinks about how they could move to Hollywood, too.

He thinks of this morning. He thinks of why and he thinks of how- he thinks of the water and the wind and the feel of the metal. He thinks of the gravel under tires and how Dirk was going to come onto the bridge and save him, even. He thinks of that a lot.

He thinks of what Rose and Kanaya would say if they knew and what they would do, how they would feel?

He thinks of calling Rose for her birthday and getting presents for his own.

He thinks of what Dirk will do if Dave sees him again and if Dirk would do something for Dave’s birthday. He thinks about if he’ll be in Hollywood on his birthday.

He thinks about if he had never made it this far and if he had never met Dirk.

He thinks about his promise to tell Rose and Kanaya and how he didn’t keep it.

He thinks and thinks and…

He drives to Hollywood and promises himself _one day._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huh- well hey. Glad you got through that- there's some sweetness in the next chapter to make up for it, as always. Enjoy.


	4. These Streets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "These streets are yours, you can keep them  
> I don't want them  
> They pull me back, and I surrender  
> To the memories I run from
> 
> Oh, we have paved these streets  
> With moments of defeat
> 
> But even if we won't admit it to ourselves  
> We'll walk upon these streets and think of little else  
> I won't show my face here anymore
> 
> These streets are yours, you can keep them  
> In my mind it's like you haunt them
> 
> And passing through, I think I see you  
> In the shapes of other women  
> Oh we have stained these walls  
> With our mistakes and flaws
> 
> All that's left behind  
> Is a shadow on my mind  
> All that's left behind"  
> -  
> Dave searches for his place somewhere he never even dreamed of being.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! This chapter title is (naturally) a song by Bastille, called These Streets.  
> I also hope this chapter isn't as (sort of) messy and montage-y as it may have come out as. If it is, I apologize, but hope you enjoy!

Hollywood arrives quicker than Dave thought it would.

He’s been driving for a day, solid, dozing whenever it gets too much and snacking as he drives. This allows him to reach Hollywood in a day’s time, discounting whenever the male was forced to stop and refill his gas tank along the winding road. It wasn’t as hard as he expected, either. Various stops to check a map and landmarks certainly helped, plus the many state signs he passed. He’s never been outside of Texas before, yet here he is now, driving through Arizona and then New Mexico, all to reach California. Then, once inside California, it’s onto Los Angeles. Inside Los Angeles, he’ll find Hollywood, seated beside Beverly Hills.

He’ll find a new beginning.

He thinks about that a lot as he drives and travels from state to state, across this little strip of the country. He watches as beaches appear and deserts recede, the weather warm, especially for the winter. But, it’s something Dave could grow to love.

Buildings get larger and traffic gets heavier, with wider roads and more expensive and fancy houses. He sees more area of bustling life and… perhaps more of a mix between people. While Dave is used to socs and greasers vehemently against each other, everywhere he looks now, they blend. Greasers still look like what Dave is used to, but perhaps not as rough around the edges. They have splashes of color occasionally and there is no blood stains littering their shoes or hands, now. It’s more for show, he realizes, to look tough but not truly bear the meaning of it. Socs, too, are the same, it seems. Some socs only wear the newest clothes, he observes. They wear bright new patterns and women have new dresses and skirts, along with makeup and jewelry. Men have new shoes and the most well ironed pants, coats around their arms and shining watches around their wrists.

Everything is a contest still, but perhaps not the contest Dave is used to.

It’s a show of who has what and how flashy you can be- can you look like something you’re not and make it?

Dave wants it.

He wants to be anything but what he is right now.

And, his wish is granted. Palm trees sprinkle the landscape and a new and growing city surrounds him, a _Welcome to Hollywood_ sign above him as he drives through the streets. Houses are colored white and even pink or blue- greens and yellows. Anything you can think of, with clothing shops and restaurants littering the places Dave goes through now, slowly. There are film studios and art shops; cafes and furniture stores. Everything Dave could ever dream of seems to have been combined and turned into this one place, the male slightly breathless as he takes everything in. Because he’s made it.

_He’s made it._

 

Dave spends his first few moments in Hollywood gathering his bearings. He parks outside a decent looking hotel called the _Hollywood Plaza Inn_ , a fancy little fountain outside of it, even. It has big signs and bright colors- there’s billboards around him and magazine stands. It’s beautiful, frankly. Dave’s only reservation is that he hopes it doesn’t cost too much, the male taking a good while to merely count his money and go through his belongings. He figures out what food he has is good and what isn’t- what clothes will actually… well, fit in, and what won’t. His mission right now is to survive and start anew, and that begins with figuring out what flies and what doesn’t.

After sorting through the things he has- which really isn’t much, considering the clothes he has are relatively clean, but nothing special, since they were in his emergency bag- and throwing away what was either blood stained, spoiler, or really just downright useless, he’s done. He’s done his first objective and now onto the next, the male’s eyes flickering to the brightly lit hotel sign above him.

The Inn really isn’t that busy, which is quite surprisingly, although it is just a Thursday. The parking lot is maybe a third full, but then again, it is about mid day now. He’s sure people are out for lunch and perhaps even work, the male huffing a bit as he goes to leave his car and grab his bag. He takes the money- or what he needs of it- and places it in his wallet, placing the excess in a pocket on his bag. Then he’s slinging it over his shoulder, the male heading to walk into this little place that shall become his temporary home.

 

It’s really nice. Like… _really_ nice. It’s got pure white floors and fancy chandeliers- there’s a little food bar in the corner and the hallways are carpeted, but it’s clean and warm and inviting, most of all. The lighting is a warm sort of yellowy orange tone and to top it off, there’s even little potted plants inside, displayed in the lobby.

It’s peaceful.

It’s something that makes Dave pause, most of all, the male blinking a bit at the fanciness of it, really. This isn’t in what seems to be the higher part of town, either- this is… just a normal hotel, right? Dave’s never been in a hotel before or really even seen anything besides some lousy, family run bed and breakfast, so he wouldn’t know. What he does know is that he’s staying here for at least two nights, though, the male walking up to the check in counter and gently knocking on the desk, a bit hesitant. He’s not sure what the proper _etiquette_ for this shit is, but he’s praying he’s following it, the male watching as a dark haired lady comes from around the corner then.

“Hello, sir, and welcome to the Hollywood Plaza Inn. How may I help you today?” She says it sweetly and she’s wearing makeup, he figures out, based on the gloss of her lips and perhaps the darkness of her lashes. There’s rouge on her cheeks and even a sort of… makeup in her brows? Kanaya and Rose were always rather minimal so Dave wouldn’t really know how makeup works- but this is Hollywood and it’s the most he’s ever seen, for sure, the male hesitating a bit before he speaks.

“Ah, yeah. How much is it for two nights?” His Southern tone comes across, almost painfully so, and he can see her lips quirk up in amusement. He partially wonders why, but tries to not fixate on it too much, eyes diverted. It’s half in an attempt to get whatever attention she has on him off, as well as perhaps get her eyes away from _his_ eyes. If she has to pay attention to him and look at him- even if, yes, he knows it’s their job- then he’d like for her to not examine his eyes so much. He didn’t really think about that, but he’ll have to deal with odd comments again, won’t he? Maybe.

“Of course, sir. It’s $174 for two nights.” Dave mentally winces at the number, even if he does have the money. He doubts he’ll ever get over counting it and budgeting, the male nodding a bit and going to draw out his wallet. He hands over the money and maybe picks at his jacket a bit while she gathers the room key and everything like that, small talk being made in the meantime.

“So, where are you from?” It’s casual and Dave knows it doesn’t mean anything, but he still isn’t quite used to this- to… to being safe, maybe? He’s been driving for almost 21 hours straight, so he’s a tiny bit tired, a tiny bit hungry, and just a _tiny_ bit ready to see what Dirk was talking about.

Oh, Dirk.

“Uh, Texas. Houston.” He says it politely though and flashes a gentle smile at her, the male rocking on his heels a bit. He’s dropped his bag beside him, the duffel sitting by his shoes. People are filtering in and out now as the lunch hour passes, small conversations reaching his ears and fluttering past him. There’s a family staying here to visit someone out of state. A father who left his family to get a job here, just for the month. A model here for a job and a photographer here to see the sights. It’s people who Dave can’t relate to in the slightest, yet they still intrigue him and make him curious. They still strike a chord in him, the male answering idle questions about Texas and the weather, what’s it’s like and how far, until he finally starts to pay attention again. It’s due to a simple question he was half expecting, yet he’s still so unsure of how to reply.

“So, why are you here in Hollywood anyways?”

The words strike Dave and maybe he chokes for a moment. His breath catches and he licks at his lips, shrugging a bit and offering a half smile. He really wishes he had his shades on, too, but they’re still broken and thrown into his bag. He needs to get new ones. Badly.

“Uh- just traveling. Wanted to go somewhere new.” It sounds flimsy, even to Dave, and by the woman’s quirked brow, he can assume she’ll think the same. Regardless, she doesn’t comment. Just nods and finally offers the keys, giving a soft smile.

“Well, Hollywood is the perfect place for a new start.” She says it softly, like she’s said it a million times before, and it briefly strikes Dave that maybe she has said it before.

Has she seen others like Dave before- without realizing it, maybe?

Has she seen others with bruises and scars on their cheeks and arms, littering their body and everywhere possible? Do they have dark eyes, too, and shifty stances? Do they flinch from contact like Dave does at times? Do they fear their abuser coming and following and di they, as Dave’s did last night?

“Sir, here’s your key.” It’s presented to Dave and he blinks a tiny bit, leaving his stupor as the metal item clacks against the table. He takes it, though, sliding it into his palm and giving the girl a bit of a tight smile. He’s about as unsure as he could ever be, the male feeling the key fob again, as he did many nights ago. He nods.

“Thank you.” He murmurs it softly and glances at his room number again, making a note of what floor it’s on as he leans to grab his bag. He hauls it up and then continues on to where the elevator is, pressing the button and waiting a moment. He hopes he doesn’t seem too impatient to the people around him- a woman dressed in work clothes which happen to consist of a rather sleek skirt and a ruffle top, along with a man in a sort of relaxed button up, sleeves rolled up and jeans slightly dirty. That, or perhaps scary or intimidating? Their gazes linger on him a moment before they slide away cleverly, avoiding Dave’s gaze every time he glances to them. Adults always do that. They never want you to know that they’re examining you, but he knows. No shit, really. He supposes he’s an adult, too, though. Legally, anyways. He can get a job and buy a house, or rather find a place to live- both of which are Dave’s top missions for the moment.

First thing first is getting to his room, though, the elevator pinging as the door opens. The adults pause and glance to Dave, but he waves them on, the male still wishing for his shades. Once he gets a paycheck or finds some loose cash, he’ll buy some. He knows wearing them inside is rude and all that, but the light can be a bitch sometimes for his sensitive eyes, on top of them adding a scary factor. He’ll never forget the first time a kid cried because of them- but that’s another thought for another time. Perhaps never, really.

He slides in after the two others do, though, the man asking what floor everyone is on. He’s the third floor and the woman is, too- Dave’s second, he informs them. They almost look relieved because of it and he’s really blaming his eyes right around now. He wouldn’t think they’d find greasers particularly scary, but maybe they do. Dave wouldn’t really blame them. He does have a clean white shirt on, yes, but he’s still got scars on his face and his body. His eyes are flaming red and his hair is a soft blonde, which really doesn’t help tone his eyes _at all_. His shoes are scuffed and dirty and truly, to top it off, his jeans are old and perhaps a bit torn- is that blood? He’ll have to wash them, he thinks, distantly and a bit embarrassed, the male’s head ducking as he exits the elevator.

It’s on his floor now, clearly, the male stepping out and sighing as he drags his duffle with him. He glances to the keys clutched in his hand again, examining the number on them. 387. Alright. He glances at a few signs and spies a water fountain on his little adventure to find his room, the male traveling (and getting lost) for a minute or two before he stumbles onto the right room. He was never good at navigating rooms in school either, now that he thinks about it, the male inserting the key and unlocking the door. He pushes it open, and into his room he goes.

 

It’s nice. Like… pretty nice.

There’s a big window with these light cream curtains drawn over it. There’s a big king bed pushed up to the wall on the left side of the room, decorated in navy and cream again. It’s got two dark, what looks to be mahogany, nightstands on either side of said bed, each with their own little lamp and one with a little clock. It comes with a kitchenette and inside that is a fridge- slightly smaller, perhaps mini? Dave’s never heard of those before- and a coffeemaker, of course. There’s a gas stove and then- believe it or not- a _dishwasher._ Dave personally never had one, due to them really just now coming out, and he’s actually a bit befuddled by it. He messes with it for a moment before figuring out how it works and he huffs a bit, because dang. That’s… neat. Really. It’s neat. He figures out how to turn it off next, chuckling a little bit. It’s… it’s all cool though. Really cool. There’s a little radio on this dresser and it has a notepad and some paper and pens- a little phone with a phonebook beside it and a directory for the hotel. Apparently they have washing machines and driers, too- Dave’s just used to the washboard and air dry method, but that certainly seems a hell of a lot better. It takes two hours as well, but damn. Dave will take it over him having to do that shit himself, the male thinking to his own stained jeans and desperately-in-need-of-a-wash shirts.

So, yes.

It’s better than anything Dave’s ever had, but in order to keep it, he needs to work on finding a job and- better yet- somewhere to live? He certainly wouldn’t mind living somewhere like this, but he doesn’t really think that’s what hotels are for, honestly. It’s also probably more expensive than damn rent- which leads to another question. How will Dave afford living, even with a job? Living alone was expensive, even in Texas. Here- well damn. It’s probably a hell of a lot more and they’ve got apartments and _mortgages_ and all that shit.

He decides to debate it and think it over after putting his clothes in the wash and maybe fishing out some snacks to eat, the male settling himself on the bed and leafing through a newspaper that was set outside of the room. It has job listings on a little page and housing on another, so it’s clearly a big thing in this place. Dave takes his time going through it, too, the greaser humming as he reads through stories, trying to get a feel for the place and what to expect. Where do people eat and what’s popular? Do they have schools in the area? Are gangs big here like they were in Texas? Do they have clubs and the subway and everything like Dirk spoke of- a _subway_ , which is something Dave has never heard of or really seen before besides in books and dictionaries. He thinks they’re underground trains if that makes any sense, the male not quite sure if he trusts them as he reads through page to page of the newspaper. Chicago got a major one ten years back, if he remembers hearing that on the news correctly-

But, in better news for _him_ , Dave thinks he has a job. Or rather, somewhere to get one.

It’s a little coffee shop called _Dream Bean Coffee House_ \- which wow, isn’t that name- and it says they’re hiring a few new workers, to serve and to just stay behind the bar and make coffee. It seems to serve pastries and also just general breakfast and sweets through the day, if Dave is getting the right impression based off of the ad, the male humming a tiny bit as he considers it. It’s certainly the best option he’s got, though, Dave going over to the desk and then grabbing that little notepad, along with a pen. He takes down details of a phone number for the place and an address, scribbling it down as he clicks his tongue. He takes down details from a few other places too, of course, just in case that doesn’t quite work out for him. He’s really betting on it, though- the _Dream Bean Coffee House_ really seems like the perfect place for him (ironically, of course).

But, his mind is made and he has plans now. His first mission is partly accomplished- yet there was a number two, wasn’t there? Indeed. Find somewhere to live ( _besides the hotel)._

Easier said than done, honestly, Dave looking over the page of the newspaper that contains the info on that and, really, coming back disappointed. All he sees are listings for temporary amounts of time for obscene prices- and also centered towards women only? A bit rough around the edges, but he gets it, with all the models in town and all that. Finally, though, he finds one- a listing by a guy named Karkat, asking for a roommate. Preferably in the twenties range (Dave’s close enough) and not some college kid that’ll get shit faced drunk or throw parties. The rent is pretty even split and apparently the guy had a roommate but it didn’t work so hot, so he’s searching again. Huh. Dave takes a few moments to consider the ad and look up prices- calculate the rent and everything based off how much the café and the other places offer to pay, roughly. It comes up with a good bit of margin between rent and spending money so he decides that it’ll probably work, the male writing down Karkat’s details as well and the address to that place, too.

Once Dave has gotten his two ‘missions’ accomplished, he puts up his laundry and all that and then, it’s onto the coffeeshop. He calls first, naturally, and it goes decently well, Dave guesses. Not like he has anything to compare it to.

“Hello, Dream Bean Coffee House, how may I help you?” The voice comes across a bit rushed, yet surprisingly pleasant and smooth, and Dave glances at the time, spying it to be about three pm. Does a lunch rush come right about now? Perhaps an early dinner rush? Do the colleges nearby get out right now for in between classes? Dave isn’t sure and he won’t ever know unless he works there and goes in there at this time, the male hesitating a moment before he speaks. He’s not quite too sure how to go about this.

“Yeah, uh, y’all are offering a job, right?” There’s another little pause, as if the person is caught off guard by the Southern accent, and maybe they are. Most people have been lately.

“Yes, sir. Are you a college student here?” It strikes Dave that maybe people are thinking that, based off how he is clearly far away from home. He huffs a bit. From east coast to west coast.

“No, ma’am. I’m actually moving here if all goes well- should I go in for an interview or something? What time is good?” There’s another little pause and Dave really isn’t sure why. Maybe they’re busy? Not expecting that answer? It doesn’t matter.

“Uh- yeah. That would be nice, actually. Our manager on duty should be in in ten, so could you come in twenty, then? Wear whatever, honestly- everyday casual clothes.” A pause again, Dave about to speak up when the sweet voiced female does instead, “But I advise you that if you’re a soc, you tone down the fanciness and lose the vest. If you’re a greaser, leave your jacket in the car and maybe roll up the sleeves of your white t-shirt or something. Jeans are fine, though.” It’s quite matter of fact, perhaps a tiny bit smug, and Dave has a feeling she’s had to say this many times- and probably when said interview-ee walks in. Regardless, he sighs a bit and clicks his tongue, debating leaving his leather jacket every day that he works. It’s a worthwhile sacrifice.

“I’m going to assume shades aren’t allowed either?”

“No, sir. They aren’t. We expect you in twenty if you still decide to come.” That smug voice is back- though maybe it isn’t smug? The more Dave looks into it the more it comes across as merely playful and friendly- perhaps overly so- and Dave blinks a bit. She sounds nice, at least. Like… a nice lady. Dave isn’t really used to seeing women have jobs either- it _is_ the 1950’s guys, c’mon- but he understands the necessity of it and the rising need. _He_ , of course, doesn’t have any issues with it, either. Everyone’s got to make a living somehow.

So, it’s set.

“Expect me then, ma’am.”

“We will.”

And so they shall.

 

Dave arrives at the _Dream Bean Coffee House_ right when he’s supposed to- twenty minutes for when the nice lady on the phone said to. He’s forgone his leather jacket at the moment, with it sitting in the passenger seat of his car, the male taking a moment in the parking lot to straighten himself up. He does as she suggested on the phone- rolls the sleeves of his white t-shirt. He put on a nice pair of jeans, too, for once, straightening his socks a bit and also his hair for a moment before he gets out of his car.

Onto the coffee shop he goes.

His first impression of the place is pretty nice. It’s based out in soft creams and tans, with a little steaming mug as the logo. Hours and working times are posted on the doors, which he pushes in when he enters the places, eyes scanning around. It’s a tiny bit busy, filled with what Dave will presume to be college students, his eyes flickering to the counter area after. There are some bakers in the back- two or three- preparing the dishes he can see in the glass cases in front of him, one barista working the counter. She’s most definitely the one he talked to on the phone as well, based off her shining eyes and her sweetly toned voice. It drifts like music and has a sort of sweetened tone to it, almost as sweet as the sugar he can smell in the air, the greaser tucking his hands into his pockets as he shuffles into line. There are two people in front of him and he takes this time to just examine the place- the coffeepots and the people eating. The barista and how she works, taking down names and shuffling from the cash register to the stations to make coffee. She seems practiced and Dave can imagine that she’s probably a top contender here, or at least has worked here for a good deal of time. He’d be surprised if she didn’t.

Soon enough, it’s up to Dave, though. The other customers have been taken care of and while Dave has recognized the women, it seems she has recognized him, too, head tilting a bit. Her hair is bobbed off at her chin, a dark color, resembling dark chocolate, almost. She has round glasses frames that are black and bright blue eyes shine through behind them. Round cheeks and a beaming smile greet him, the woman tucking a stray piece of hair behind her ear as she greets him.

“Hey, there! Are you the one who called about the job?” She has a sort of naturally cheery appearance and tone he realizes, as well as the fact that she has buckteeth that lip over her bottom lip, which seems to be coated in some sort of shiny lipgloss.

She resembles John uncannily.

It hits Dave after a moment and maybe he has to stop and remember where he is, as well as cope with the fact that yes, this woman is literally a female version of John. He sighs through his teeth.

“Oh, uh, yeah. Is your manager in?” Dave asks it anyways, though, once gathering himself. He figures he would have seen someone else, wouldn’t he?

The girl merely shrugs though, cheeks flushing a bit as she laughs and shrugs sheepishly.

“Well, you see, I am the manager. I just sort of didn’t want you to come in then because of the rush- sorry! I hope you don’t mind.” She’s got that playful look again and Dave blinks, a bit surprised, before he merely nods and then smiles a bit. A tiny, tiny bit. Hard not to when she’s so infectious.

“Ah, yeah. That’s fine, actually. I get it.” Dave says it simply enough and then nods, for the first time actually… _looking_ at the girl. Glancing to her name and then actually at her eyes once she’s looking at him and not making drinks and such. And really, she doesn’t seem surprised.

Now, _that_ may seem surprising. Why would someone be surprised, Dave? Do you want her to be? No, actually. She doesn’t seem surprised by the scars on his face and his eyes, though- usually people shy away or this gaze flickers once Dave’s eyes meet theirs, but she doesn’t even waver. She smiles brighter even, perhaps, the male finding himself flushing a bit and rolling his shoulders. He’s the one who looks away this time, the girl laughing gently.

“Alright, that’s good. Here, fill this sheet out for me real quick… and that’s really it. You seem like a nice enough guy. The owner just has a thing against college kids is all so it’s been a little hard to get people to work here.” She rolls her eyes a tiny bit,- Jane, he thinks, catching the name on her nametag and remembering it now- handing over a little clipboard with a pen and some papers on it.

Dave nods and takes it though, eyes flickering over the questions and then the café, the male looking to where he can fill out the paper.

“Yeah- that’s fine, I don’t mind.” He murmurs it, huffing a bit. These students are freaking _everywhere-_

“Oh, it’s fine if you just fill it out on the counter. It should calm down now and we can chat in the meantime anyways.” She waves a hand lightly and Dave glances up to her again, nodding a bit and going to prop against the dark green counter.

“Alright then. Thanks.” He murmurs it and he really does mean it, the male clicking his tongue a bit and then glancing over the questions. They’re all easy- name, birthday, prior work experience. Why do you need the job and if you have a number or not, your address. Those make Dave a bit anxious and he huffs a bit, filling out the form to the best of the ability and then handing it right back to Jane. She takes it and then glances it over, tilting her head from side to side as he reads it and mumbles what he’s written down, humming a little. It’s a quirky little habit really, but soon enough she seems satisfied, looking to Dave and smiling.

“Well, happy early birthday, for one, Dave. I’m sure you’ve already read my name tag, but I’m Jane, general manager of this place. The owner rarely comes in- and to be honest with you, I’m planning on buying this place in a few years- and I work barista and also baker back there. We’re a bit short staffed so I’ve been at the coffee station lately, but if all goes well, you’ll be here and like a pro in no time.” She speaks easily and with hand movements, shifting on her feet as she does and always moving. It’s slightly amusing to watch along with soothing, because while Dave is standing still right now, usually he doesn’t- especially if he’s the one being focused on. He nods to everything she has to say, though, smiling a bit and nodding along with it.

“Alright- that sounds pretty cool. Any questions before you… well… hire me, maybe?” It’s teased slightly and Jane laughs a bit, shaking her head.

“Only one. Do you happen to know a guy from Texas, too- since you did put that down on where you’re from- and he also happens to have eyes like yours, except maybe orange tinted?” Jane raises her eyebrows and he can tell that she isn’t expecting him to. He’d be pretty surprised to know that she knows someone like that as well. It’s freak to think that someone else, so alike him, too, exists… except,

“I do, actually. Does his name happen to be Dirk?”

Jane grins as bright as the sun.

A bit more of mild conversation passes and Dave’s pretty happy to learn that she’s definitely cool with him being gay, especially with her knowing Dirk (it’s sort of just implied). That also makes the reasoning behind why she didn’t react to the scars he has and his look- nor his eyes-, because she’s seen it before. She has a friend with all of that, really.

Turns out the coffee shop really is perfect and before Dave knows it, he’s been given a little apron and told his work hours for the next day, Jane patting his shoulder and winking at him lightly as she shoves him out the door- as gently as one can, and as playfully, too.

“See you tomorrow, Dave!” “Same to you, Jane.”

He made his first good choice of many.

 

Dave’s second good choice comes when he returns to the hotel and dials the number for the person looking for a roommate- Karkat-, at around five o’clock. It says to call after four so here he is, the male humming a tiny bit as it rings.

“Hello?” The voice comes across almost immediately after the first few rings, exponentially louder than Dave had expected. It’s also a hell of a lot angrier and gruffer for some unknown reason, making Dave blink a bit in surprise before he answers,

“Uh- yeah. You’re looking for a roommate, right?” Dave hears a puffs of breath- a heavy sigh presumably- and he can tell, especially based off the slew that comes next, that this man has had _weird_ offers come through.

“Okay, so, I’m going to _assume_ that you saw the ad in the newspaper. Well, first thing first. No, I can’t change the fucking rent amount. That’s how much it is and I’m fucking halfing it and it will be halved each month- and that’s not a flat fucking rate. If the water bill goes up or some shit, we half it equally again. Next, _no_ , I don’t have two fucking fridges. Do you know how expensive that shit is? This isn’t a god damn cornucopia. I have a washing machine as well and some shitty ring drier, but if you complain and want something better, go out and buy it yourself fuck wad. Also, no drugs and shit and no parties. Fuck that. If you want to go throw college parties, I’ll throw a stick up your god damn ass. Pay for fucking housing there if you want to be so high and mighty. Lastly, we can discuss other terms once you agree and _yes you have to sign a fucking contract, you shit stain_ , if you eat my food, I’ll cut you and rip out your throat, and then leave it outside for the wild animals. Any comments?”

Dave pauses and he thinks.

He thinks _hard_.

“Well? Are you fucking there or did some fucker forget to hang up again? Seriously, I don’t fucking understand all this bullsh-“

“Yeah, I’ll take it.”

There’s a moment of silence from the other person- _finally-_ and Dave half things that maybe they hung up, but no. They were clearly just surprised that Dave is still cool with living there after all of that fucking mess, the voice coming back,

“Well- uh- I have a boyfriend, too, and I’m a gay piece of shit so if you have a _fucking problem with that-“_

Dave blinks.

“Uh- not really. I’m gay, too, so.”

Another moment of pause.

“Alright- uh- just fucking come by tomorrow with your shit and you can move in, I guess. Or come by whenever- just call first. Got it?”

“Got it.”

The other side hangs up and Dave is left pleasantly surprised, blinking to himself and holding the phone in mild shock, a slightly amused smile on his face.

Welcome to Hollywood.

 

And so, Dave’s life goes on. He’s completed the second biggest thing that _had_ to be done, absolutely and completely, and now he’s… well, he’s not home free, but he has a home. He has a job and he has what seems to be a pretty decent life, if everything falls into place like it should.

And y’know what?

It does.

For once, it actually does.

Dave goes to work the next day, bright and early, and he finds that it doesn’t suck as much dick as he expected. Jane is his supervisor and instructs him on the various coffees and how to make them, as well as some basic pastries. He learns how to work the cash register and how to bake some pretty simple things if he’s really needed back there. He can do a refund and an exchange (which is odd, because… coffee? But, whatever. He can still do it) as well as make absurdly complex orders that Dave didn’t even know existed- nor do they need to. Besides work, he also learns about Jane herself and her friends. Her lifelong dream is to run a bakery and it runs in her family to, except she moved away to try and go to college. She’s actually she’s Washington and up there, but she didn’t like it. She prefers the warmer, sunnier weather, which mimics her personality pretty well. Better yet- she’s also a complete sweetheart and helps Dave with figuring out Hollywood itself and LA. She tells him restaurants and prices- grocery stores and clubs. She’s educated in the gay community pretty well and wow, what do you know? Dave has three gay people in his life now- she’s not actually gay, but the meaning is there- and that’s… actually amazingly reassuring. He gets called a twink again and then explained what it is (once again, not sure whether to be flattered or not). He learns about her personal life, as well- she has a girlfriend, or rather, two girlfriends. She’s polyamorous- something Dave had heard of, but not ever really saw or experienced- and their names are Callie and Roxy. She promises to introduce him to both of them sometime and he assures her he’d like to.

End of the day- or rather, the end of four days- he has a friend.

The closest friend he’s ever had, perhaps.

 

Yet, within those four days, Dave didn’t _just_ work. He had another mission to do- another objective, if you would- and he finally moved in with the screaming man known as Karkat.

And yes.

He screams.

_Oh, does he scream._

He shouts and yells and honestly, Dave gets used to it.

He got used to it about as soon as he knocked on the door to the apartment, actually, listening as the man yells at someone else to get the door, but then _no_ , Dave had called earlier so Karkat says not to. Apparently the man doesn’t, because Dave never saw anyone else besides who he comes to know is Karkat.

Karkat- an olive toned, darker skin male, with stormy grey eyes. His hair consists of a mop of curls that have a sort of reddish, ginger tone to them, but not quite. He’s short in stature, but still around the same height as Dave, and he favors wearing grays and blacks. He has some aversion to color, Dave learns, complaining about everything and anything to do with them. Dave isn’t exactly sure _why_ , but he’s pretty sure it’s some shitty inside joke that he just hasn’t figured out yet, based off the conversations Karkat has on the phone- which Dave overhears. Hard not to.

Besides that fact and the quirkiness of his roommate, though, it’s… actually pretty nice. The place is kept relatively clean- Karkat has threatened to kill Dave in many vicious ways if the male doesn’t keep it clean, so that’s also encouragement- and it’s actually pretty nice. Karkat seems to straddle that awkward border between greaser and soc and if you try to corner him into one- or really even comment about one towards him- he will not have it. Expect a sort of screaming match and a very furious male by the end of it- which Dave doesn’t try to understand or mess with. He doesn’t talk about it frankly and getting reactions out of Dave, besides nonchalance, when involved with Karkat’s screaming is… a bit difficult. Dave has issues with it at first and a few times he snaps at Karkat for it, flashbacks filling Dave’s mind and sending him into a bit of a frenzy. He doesn’t think he has to explain much more than that and after that, Karkat tones down a bit afterwards. His violence- although theatrical and not meant- ceases, and while he does yell, he doesn’t direct it at Dave again, lest Dave snap at him once more and get genuinely aggressive and pissed off.

But, it works.

The house has nice amenities and, while it actually is just a two bedroom apartment, it’s pretty well done. The furniture is nice and there aren’t any abrasive colors- it’s mainly dark greys and perhaps navys or reds, but tans and creams are found otherwise. Browns and splashes or orange can sometimes be found and every time Dave has snuck into Karkat’s room, he finds a suspicious amount of darkness- like literal, dark. Karkat doesn’t know how to use a fucking light apparently- and also various rainbow items. Dave doesn’t know why the shit is so against color, but whatever. He’ll leave him to his creepy darkness and odd splashes of purple in random items- a random purple pillow? Hello? Whatever- while Dave favors his own room.

And oh boy, is that a new thing.

Dave has his own room- and it’s like… _decent_. There’s room for clothes- of which Dave buys more of. He has more than one pair of shoes now and he has a couple of differently colored shirts, mainly red at Jane’s suggestion, and it’s nice. Everything is nice. His room has a decent bed in it and a nice desk that isn’t falling apart. There’s not cracks or dents in the walls- nothing is breaking. There’s nothing smashed and no trash for Dave to clean up, as well as the fact that he doesn’t have to tip toe around. He can have his snacks out and he keeps food in the fridge, hesitant the first few times to eat around Karkat and take things out of the fridge, but he’s learning. It certainly helps, too, that… well, Karkat doesn’t ask. As long as Dave doesn’t ask about weird things about Karkat, Karkat doesn’t comment. He doesn’t ask about his eyes or his scars- he never mentions that one time Dave was changing and he walked in, only to see the mish mash of scars on his side. Dave sort of freaked out a whole good fucking bit, stressed about what the other male would say, yet it never came. Karkat acted completely normal and Dave… learned to do the same. It was an equal situation when, the second day after moving in, Dave saw Karkat fighting viciously on the phone with someone, only to abruptly stop and seemingly make up and tell them he loved them. Weird? Fucking yes. Very weird. Yet, Dave didn’t mention it and Karkat never told.

It works.

It’s an existence that Dave can certainly get behind, eager to get his first paycheck this Sunday- which… happens to be the day before his birthday.

His birthday.

It’s snuck up onto Dave without him really thinking about it, at least until Jane mentions it at work. It’s Sunday and he’s worked for four days straight, counting today, so she gives him tomorrow off and a cookie. A cookie for his birthday, but- who knows? It’s Jane. Dave appreciates it anyways and eats it after his shift, talking with the bubbly female. They’re both excited in their own right, really. Jane has a date with both her girlfriends tonight and it’s being held at her place, so she’s baked a special pastry for both of them to try, and then they’re going to stay in and play games together all night. Perhaps even get icecream.

It reminds Dave of Rose and Kanaya and for once… he feels a tinkling of sadness? He’s felt it before while here- from the looks he gets and the questions he’s inquired about while on the job, relating to his eyes and if he can get those ‘fixed’, along with his scars. Those, he can brush off though. This… creeps into him, though. It’s a sort of nostalgic pang of sadness and something that catches him off guard, because _god_ , they must be worried. They don’t know how to call him or where at or anything- so he promises to. He tells himself he’ll call them tomorrow and mentions it to Jane slyly, who, sweet as ever, agrees. She’s motherly, he’s come to realize- just like Kanaya. She pats his hand or straightens his hair- pinches his cheeks teasingly sometimes. She makes sure he’s hydrated and has eaten. She’s… nice. Like, really nice. A nice Dave never expected to have, especially when she suggests Dave go out for his birthday instead of staying at the shop or hanging out at home. She knows he must be bored with all of the settling in he’s done these past few days, especially with all the work, so she suggests he have some fun. She hands him his paycheck and winks, patting him on the shoulder and ruffling his hair again.

He’s given another cookie and then out he goes (After a bit more conversation of course) and onto home he is.

It’s about midday once he arrives and Karkat is out again, but he pays no mind. Instead, Dave plans.

He remembers what Dirk said and where to go- he finds a map and maps it out. He picks out an outfit and shyly figures out how to make himself look _better_ perhaps. He looks for colorful things he could wear and how to style his hair- what to do with his jacket that isn’t oh so harsh, because the last thing he wants to be tomorrow is intimidating.

After a while, Dave is eventually satisfied and he even makes himself a dinner- like… a _real_ dinner. Pasta he cooks and boils on the stove with some sauce that yes, was precanned, but he seasoned it and he’s pretty proud of the fact. He tosses in some protein and it’s a bit late whenever he’s finally done, but then Karkat is home and hell, they _eat together_.

They talk and Karkat is soft spoken for once, in a pretty good mood. They discuss shit to do on birthdays and Dave sneaks in the fact that he’s going to the Silverado tomorrow. Karkat raises his brows a bit and looks half amused, smirking and saying,

“Who did you heard of the Silverado from?”

Dave happily informs him just of who, saying Dirk and what he looks like, all that. Karkat seems to recognize him, too- at least mentally- the male snickering a bit and then rolling his eyes.

“Of fucking course.”

“What?”

“Well, naturally he’d invite _you_ there.”

“What do you mean?”

Dave’s still a bit lost here and Karkat smirks right back- a devilish look Dave doesn’t think he’s seen yet- the male laughing and snickering. He shakes his head and goes to wash the dishes, swiping up Dave’s bowl while he’s at it.”

“Look, if you get invited to the Silverado by Dirk himself, then I envy your ass. Literally and metaphorically.” Karkat snarks it right out and Dave’s cheeks go red, the male groaning and shoving his roommate lightly as he passes him in the kitchen, heading onto his room.

“You could’ve just said that he doesn’t do that often- plus that I’m a _major_ hottie.”

“Don’t flatter yourself. You still look like a shit stain.”

“Thanks.”

“You’re fucking welcome.”

It’s a sweet moment, to be completely honest with you. Dave treasures it a bit as he changes into night clothes and slips into his bed- warm and comforting for once, with no hard spots or dirty spots. His clothes aren’t bloodied and he isn’t sore or hurting, nor is he hungry. No one is after him and no one hates him- at least not here. He’s got a home and he’s got a job. He has food on the table and people who care for him- he has friends at home waiting, who he’ll call tomorrow. He has Rose’s birthday and he has his own birthday. He has Dirk to see and he has Karkat in the kitchen, babbling to himself and the radio about something that doesn’t matter. He has Jane, at the shop, with her bright eyes and sweet smiles. He has her with cookies and hugs and her two sweet girlfriends that he’s going to meet someday.

He has a place to be and reasoning behind it.

He’s safe.

_He’s made it._

So, Dave shuts his ruby red eyes.

He curls into his sheets and he sighs, nose burying into the soft fabric that he’s never appreciates so much or loved so much. He hugs his pillow and treasures every moment of it until his mind slips and he dreams.

He dreams- oh, he _dreams_.

He dreams in waves, like the ocean coming over him, but it’s with warmth and sweetness. His dreams consist of his friends- his new friends. It’s meeting people and baking with Jane. It’s eating dinner with Karkat and yelling at the radio with him. It’s meeting more people and them becoming his friends, too, until he’s whole with friends, yet he still has more who he treasures.

More dreams come and they’re of Kanaya and Rose, hugging him. Of them moving to see him and having a life here, where they’re safe and don’t have to live with the memories and past he left behind.

Lastly, a final dream comes.

It comes with shining orange eyes, as bright as the sun and warm as flames. It spreads right through him and surrounds his world, making Dave dream of laughter and people he’s never met, but whom he loves.

 

He dreams of Dirk and tomorrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! I hope you enjoyed that chapter and thanks (again) to my friend for giving me the idea for this chapter. Also, thank you for reading and people who have commented/comment! I appreciate it greatly and hope you have a nice day.


	5. Of The Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You can put some joy up on my face,  
> Oh sunshine in an empty place,  
> Take me too, turn to and babe I'll make you stay,
> 
> Oh I can ease you of your pain,  
> Feel you give me love again,  
> Round and round we go,  
> Each time I hear you say,  
> This is the rhythm of the night,  
> This is the rhythm of my life,
> 
> Wont you teach me how to love and learn,  
> There'll be nothing left for me to yearn,  
> Think of me and burn and let me hold your hand
> 
> I don't want to face the world in tears,  
> Please think again, I'm on my knees,  
> Sing that song to me, no reason to repent"  
> -  
> Dave spends his birthday right where he belongs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! Hope you enjoy.

Dave’s eyes open and his mind is full of Dirk.

He remembers having quite a few dreams last night- ranging from his friends and Jane’s sweetness, to the bitterness of alcohol going down his throat, all the way to rough hands holding his own and orange eyes shining at him through darkness.

But, it’s his birthday.

That’s his second thought and realization, really, besides the fact that no, he hasn’t seen Dirk in a heck of a lot of time. Well- perhaps not _that_ much time. It’s been… what a week? Two? That’s actually not a lot at all, but he faintly wonders if Jane has mentioned him at all and if Dirk is expecting him. Does Dirk think of him at all? Is the male still imagining an outed greaser, struggling to survive in his hometown, or is he aware of Dave in Hollywood, starting anew? If he isn’t, he will be soon at least, the male sitting up with a huff and rubbing his palms against his eyes.

His room has sunlight filtering in through the curtains and a quick glance at the clock, squinted eyes reading the time, tell him that it’s around ten’o’clock. Either Karkat hasn’t gotten up yet or the male has left suspiciously quiet this morning, seeing as it’s Monday and Dave knows Karkat has work. The greaser, though, doesn’t. Jane was sweet enough to allow him this day off and he huffs a bit as he hauls himself out of bed then, stretching. His feet touch cold hardwood and his nose scrunches a bit, the male making a displeased sound in his throat as the cold air hits him as well. Karkat likes to keep the place as cold as a fucking igloo for some reason, the newly nineteen year old going and snatching a throw blanket off of his bed. He curls it around him and huffs as it drags along the floor, the male padding into the kitchen. He’s hungry and honestly doesn’t have a clue what to eat- which is something he’s becoming fond of. Sure, it sound weird, but having a choice of what to eat and getting to chose- being able to turn down something is… it’s new, but it’s _nice_. So, he decides on cereal. Sure, it’s his birthday, but he’s never really seen why it’s too special. Rose and Kanaya are probably waiting on a phone call- He’ll call Rose tonight, he promises. She’s usually up and out anyways and he’s not quite sure if she’s working with sewing or knitting with her mom or what- so that’s the best option.

He pours himself a bowl of sugary shit, though, topping it with milk and stabbing a spoon into the mix. He eats it while listening to the radio and propping up on their counter, taking pleasure in the act since Karkat bitches at him for it when the other male is around. He must have left rather quiet this morning, too, he notes. Possibly a birthday grace period for yelling? He considers it and then decides yes, that’s most likely it, and by tomorrow- or perhaps even later today- the grace period will be up and Karkat will have called him a weaselfucker or something of the sort. Satisfied with this and finished with his cereal, he flicks off the radio and washes the dishes.

After that, it’s really just… getting ready for the day? What do you do on your birthday that’s different from any other day? Nothing, if you ask him. He showers and washes his face and his body, his hair. He dries it with a towel and lets it fluff up, the male going to his closet after and picking out some clothes. He’s already laid out clothes for the club, yes, but his daytime clothes will be different. He doesn’t want to get the club outfit dirty, anyways, the male huffing a tiny bit as he tugs on his shoes. Today has brought him a long sleeve t-shirt, red sleeves and a white middle. He remembers picking it up one day and Jane commenting that she liked it, having seen him picking through the clothes in the break room (as he had just come in for a shift after shopping). He decides it suitable for today then- and especially since he’s going to see Jane. He figures he might as well. She told him to not work or busy himself today, but that doesn’t mean he can’t stop by just to say hello. He doesn’t have anything else to do anyways, the male giving one last look over himself before he’s satisfied. He grabs his wallet and then out he goes, hopping into his beloved car and turning the radio on as he drives to his favorite place.

And… the little coffee shop has become his favorite place. It has a warming quality and tone that nowhere else has- ever. He’s been many places- especially with traveling so much lately- and he hasn’t met a place even slightly comparable. Perhaps it’s the scent of cinnamon and warm coffee, or maybe it’s just Jane’s warm personality that lights up the whole place. Either way, he understands why college students walk there every day for a caffeine fix and a bite of the newest pastry. Which leads him onto a new hobby and love of his; baking. Surprisingly enough, he actually likes it quite a lot. He’s always been a bit of an artist, sure. Doodling on napkins all his life, but quite a bit more lately, littered on the orders they take and receipts they print. Due to this, he really has developed a bit of an artist’s hand and his creativity is flowing a bit more. He’s saving up for a camera, too, for a different type of art. He’ll have to use black and white film though, since colored film is so expensive, but it seems like a worthwhile hobby. He thinks that he could maybe make money off of it if he’s lucky as well and Lord knows there’s enough places to photograph around Hollywood and even just California as a whole. If he did have to take pictures of a place though- or rather if he could- it would most certainly be the coffee shop. It’s become a sort of second home to him and Jane, a bestfriend yet mentor, is the cause of that. She’s also the cause of his artistry and love for baking- which all sprouted during his first shift.

 

Believe him, he was pretty surprised when the apron was thrown at him and Jane told him to come in the next day for a shift. It wasn’t just that, though. He was told to come in at _six am._ He’d be working until three pm, a nine hour shift, and while that was long for a first day, he had a hell of a lot to learn. So, he accepted, naturally. It’s not like he was going to pass up such a good offer. Good fortune found him opening the doors to the shop at six am sharp the next day as well, the male walking in with a bit of apprehensiveness. The main lobby lights hadn’t been turned on, but he can see a warm glow coming from the back, where the bakery is. Bet it from the overhead lights or merely just the ovens, he’s not sure. What he _does_ know is that it’s early as shit, he’s tired, and that the sun is just now rising. The California morning heat is already seeping into him, so much different from Texas’ nipping cold and frost, along with its thick humidity. Here it’s dry and the beaches hold all the moisture, making the male sigh as he steps foot into the shop.

The first thing that hits him is the scent of flour- and then cinnamon and vanilla. It’s a warm sort of smell that encases him and wraps around him, almost as if he’s a baby and it swaddles him. He feels instantly awake yet more tired than ever, the male sighing a bit and stretching. He’s dressed in his typical white t-shirt and jeans, having not bought new clothes yet, as he walks further into the shop. He sees Jane’s outline, working with some dough in the back, puffs of flour rising in a cloud as she tosses the dough and throws it down on the counter. He’s not exactly sure what she’s making at the moment, but he’s sure he’ll learn soon, going behind the counter and heading right back to the bakery section of the store.

Chairs are still up on the tables and the cash register hasn’t even been turned on yet, the pastry case empty as well. That explains his duties for this morning, though, the blonde heading back to stand beside Jane. She looks tired when he catches a glimpse of her face, too, flour smeared, but beaming as she looks at him.

“Hey, Dave. Nice to see you this morning. I hope it’s not too early.” Her tone is still cheery- perhaps just a tad bit soft, but he understands. The hum of the lights and the oven certainly dulls her voice down as it is, making the male strain just a tiny bit to hear her voice. He understands her though and nods along with the female, taking in their surroundings. There’s a case of eggs out and also a milk carton and some cream. Chocolate shavings are to the side and the scent of vanilla and cinnamon are found, poured out into little measuring bowls. Jane actually seems to have multiple recipes going at the same time. Some dough is resting on a cutting board- another in the fridge, chilling. Some bread is waiting in the bread mixer and even then, there’s more dough in a bowl, the yeast in it activating and rising. He’s at a loss. He can’t tell what from what and honestly is impressed by her sheer ability here, the male fumbling for a moment or so before he finds his words.

“Oh uh, yeah, hey. You’ve sure got a bit going on, Jane.” He comments it lightly, almost in a sort of admiring or impressed light, the male looking back to the blue eyed girl. She’s still beating out the dough and currently rolling it out, preparing to cut it and make it into little triangles for some beignets. He swears he sees a warm flush go over her cheeks, though, the girl laughing and shrugging a bit. Her glasses are sliding down on her nose and her hair is pinned back, apparently to try and help keep it away and clean, yet… somehow flour has made it into her hair anyways. He finds quite the amusement in this and smiles a bit, but still keeps it to himself, listening to her reply instead of teasing,

“Oh, yeah, but it’s nothing! I’m about to get the oil on to fry these guys and then I’ll slide the bread into the pan and put it into the oven with the muffins. Then I can finish making those apple turnovers and you can help me with the syrup and glaze. After that, we make a chocolate cake and you’ll learn how to make a chocolate ganache, since I’ll be layering it and shaping it then. You can always use the leftover cake for muffin toppings, too. Some people like to buy the scraps, anyways. I guess it makes them feel better than buying a piece of cake.” She says all of this simple and practiced, as if she’s done it every day for her entire life. And while he knows she hasn’t done it her _entire_ life, she’s clearly done it a while and is masterful at it. Hell, she’s running the place by herself right now, leaving his head swimming as he listens to the amount of work they need to do.

A moment of silence passes though and Jane catches on, looking to the baffled male and raising her eyebrows. She’s already folded the beignets and is putting the oil on the stove and turning it on, looking amused as she does so. “Sorry, was that too much for you? I promise, this shift will go fast once you get used to it. Tomorrow we do pies.” She raises her eyebrows teasingly and he finally huffs out a laugh, seeing the humor in it, too. He cracks a grin and the rest of his shift… well, it goes quite wonderfully.

He does learn how to make a ganache and also how to make a glaze and syrup. He fills apple turnovers and chills piecrust dough for tomorrow. They make cakes and bake them, leveling them and them icing them. He adds in his own little creative interpretation with apple slices, somehow managing to make little patterns out of the apple peels, left over from the turnovers. Jane decides he can use this newly discovered artistic ability for the pies tomorrow and… it’s really quite nice. She isn’t pressuring and it’s fun- she doesn’t expect him to remember recipes or get everything right. He can mess up and she sees no problems with it; she’s been baking her whole life and it’s his first time. She lets him spill flour and mess around, which does end with a few eggshells in places they shouldn’t be, but it’s no trouble. It makes the shift go faster than ever and before he knows it, it’s already nearing two o’clock and they’ve been serving cakes and muffins to college students for almost seven hours already. They’ve managed the shop well and while other works do come in- mainly other bakers who don’t busy themselves with talking to him, but he’s sure he’ll talk and learn about them soon- Jane and him are a pair. They’re swift and wonderful and even when his shift does end, he’s almost sad about it. He’s exhausted, yes. Covered in flour and cinnamon and sticky with sugar on his hands, but he’s… content?

Yes.

He’s content and most of all, he’s found a friend.

 

 _That_ is how he discovered his love for the coffee shop and baking, though, as well as what a wonderful person Jane is. Which also leads him here, parked in front of the shop. He does believe spending at least a little time here today wouldn’t hurt, and he’s sure Jane would be glad to see him on his birthday. Sure, he’s not supposed to work, but she never said anything about just dropping by.

And so, he does. He turns off his beloved car and then gets out, stretching in his clothes. Although new, they’re not bad. He hasn’t gotten around to buying new shoes either, but... he’ll figure it out. All that matters is seeing Jane right now, which may be a tiny bit hard, based off the bustle of the café. It’s only around eleven thirty right now, but he can see Jane making coffee and running to the back to get more pastries, various students in line to get their fix for the day. It is lunch time, too, he realizes, although he’s a bit off since he woke up so late. Not like he’s going to complain, though. He’ll have to thank Karkat later- genuinely.

Taking a place in line, though, he catches Jane’s eye and flashes her a small smile. She looks surprised, and then relieved, the woman rolling her eyes and sighing. The red eyed male is at least a bit relieved himself to see no more students get up and stand in line behind him- as a matter of fact, it seems that he’s caught the tail end of it and gotten it right on time. Jane should take a break soon though, hopefully. He can wait until she does, anyways, the line dwindling fast as Jane goes through them easily. People are served and the magical blue eyed girl works her stuffs until it’s his turn, the male smiling at her again. This time, she smiles right back, a soft laugh leaving her.

“Nice to see you, mister, and happy birthday. What can I do for you?” She says it, soft and sweet, as always. Her hair is pinned back again and he can see on her apron where she’s dusted off flour, a glance to the back filling in his suspicions. He sees various doughs laid out and he _knows_ she working on them in her ‘free time’, the male huffing a little laugh again. She really is something.

“Uh- just a normal black coffee, Jane. I’m nothing special, but thanks. You missing me here?” He says it and gives a glance of the shop, gesturing to the various students, who are now pleased, it seems. They’re munching on their various pastries and foods, sipping their coffee as they write out their essays and talk amongst themselves. It reminds him of a separate path that was never available to him- college. It was never an option and still isn’t, and he isn’t torn up about it. He’s not fit for that sort of life anyways- that sort of panic and rushing and proving yourself to others. He’s done enough of that in his life.

“Oh, c’mon, you are! And yes, I am. Is it obvious?” Jane catches his attention, again, red eyes sliding back to the shorter woman. She’s about his height, honestly, and he sort of likes it. He doesn’t feel sort or weird about it around her, like he does with some people. It’s just an odd thing about him, but whatever. He nods to her and leans against the counter a bit, a small smile playing on his lips as he watches her move around and fix the beverage.

“Yeah, slightly. I just wanted to stop by before I went out tonight- I plan to leave at ten, so I certainly have a good bit of time.” He sighs out heavily and takes the coffee gratefully when she hands it to him, murmuring out a little, “Thanks, Jane.” He sips it once it’s cooled a moment, steam rising from the cup and hitting his face. His shades are in the car for once, a habit ever since his others broke- and yes, he got new ones. He’s not sure if he wants to wear them anymore, though. He doesn’t want to hide and that’s what shades are to him. They remind him of hiding and coldness. Of seeing his own reflection and not what’s beneath. They shielded him from the world, but he doesn’t want to be shielded anymore. He wants to embrace it.

Embrace it, sort of like how the girl rounding the counter now does to Jane.

He didn’t see her coming and didn’t even hear the doorbell ring, and neither did Jane apparently, the pair just consumed in their little conversation and tasks. It is hard to hear with all the chatter in the shop, too, but he pays that no mind. The scene in front of him is painfully familiar and his heart squeezes with a sort of nostalgic pang.

A blonde girl, eyes a shining pink, hugs her girlfriend tight, smiling brightly with black lipstick coating her lips.

For a moment, he almost thinks it’s Rose- right then and there, just taller and dressed so much differently. Perhaps with curlier hair and a louder voice; Less subtle and more confident, an off the shoulder, pink knit sweater covering the top of the girl. It’s elegant on her and looks so… nice. Something Rose would admire and Kanaya would create, yet neither would wear it, maybe. Rose is more keen to wear dresses and darker colors- not the bright white and pinks this woman seems to love. She does… share a startling resemblance to his pretend sister, though. Her hair is in the same bob, although she has curls and some form of bangs, perhaps. She seems more joyous and unashamed whenever she hugs Jane, too, the girl giving a surprised squeal and then laugh.

“Oh, hello, Roxy! I didn’t think you were off work yet.” Jane says it and looks a bit embarrassed, a soft blush on her cheeks, but she’s clearly pleased and happy to see the other. The other, being Roxy, who looks just as happy, if not a bit smug.

“Well, the point of a surprise _is_ to surprise you, isn’t it? It’s Monday and I had to pick up my favorite gal.” Roxy says it teasingly and with a wink, the woman’s attention finally shifting to him now, who was left gaping a bit himself. He feels embarrassed when he’s caught staring, too, the pink eyed girl placing her hands on her hips and then raising an eyebrow at the other. “You’re going to catch a fly in your mouth if you keep it open, honey. I suggest closing it. Aren’t you Dave, though? Red eyed mister I’ve heard about who’s going to hunt Dirk down?”

That’s… not exactly what he had in mind, but he guesses it works, the male nodding a bit then. She looks even more amused at that, going back from behind the counter as Jane shoos her away with murmurs of, ‘don’t you bump that!’ The girl does seem awfully carefree though… with a sort of practiced twist, yet again. Confident, yet not overzealous. She has a sort of elegant modesty and he can see how Rose and Roxy are similar, yet certainly not the same now. It’s as if his friend has grown up and become much… brighter and self confident, yet… intelligent. And intelligent indeed, based off how Roxy murmurs the steps of the coffee making process as Jane does them for a new customer, him stepping to the side for them.

“Uh- yeah, I’m Dave. I haven’t exactly seen Dirk either- does he even know I’m in town?” Once Roxy has finished murmuring her girlfriend’s actions, eyes twinkling as the pair look at each other, her attention switches back to him. She leans against the pastry counter and crosses her arms a bit, shrugging.

“Oh, no, I wouldn’t expect so. As I said before, surprises are surprises for a reason. He did speak of you to me, though. I can see what he meant.” Roxy says it as smoothly as Jane works, him huffing a bit. Surprises, surprises. Sure. He’s just… well, maybe a bit apprehensive. Will Dirk be glad to see him? Uncaring? Will he even remember him? That’s certainly a question to be answered and he’s not sure what will happen tonight- but it’s not like it’d be the end of the world. The first gay guy he meets certainly doesn’t have to be his prince charming- just like his first crush wasn’t. Cue internal eyeroll and scowl, the male finally remembering to reply.

“Oh? Nice. What did he say, exactly?” He’s curious, though. Call him a cat and tell him curiosity killed the cat and he still wouldn’t budge, standing up a bit straighter and raising his eyebrows at Roxy. Bright pink meets fiery red- this time the same knowing look, yet with a different person- and she smirks at him.

“Well, he said-“

“He said for you two to stop leaning on my pastry counter! You’re going to leave smudges and I don’t want to make him clean it on his birthday!” Jane is back. She swats at them with a rag and the pair dutifully leans away, huffing a bit, each in their own right. He looks back to Roxy though and raises his eyebrows, still patiently waiting to see just what Mr. Orange Eyes said. But, no suck luck. The girl has that smirk again and shrugs, mimicking locking her lips and throwing away the key.

“Oh- sorry, sweets. One time offer. Guess you’ll just have to ask him in person tonight. I heard clubs are the most fun on your birthday, anyways.” She says it simply and he feels a tinge of annoyance, but he doesn’t let it consume himself. Instead amusement comes as her playfulness washes over him, making him sigh and roll his eyes. He takes a sip of his almost forgotten coffee and shoves his other hand in his pocket, murmuring,

“Yeah, alright. Who names a club _Silverado_ anyways?” He says it offhanded perhaps and merely out of curiosity, watching Roxy’s- and Jane’s, in his peripheral- expression light up with more amusement and silent laughter. This time, they tag team the answer, with Jane starting,

“Dirk would,”

“Yeah, he literally picked it out. He’s a secondary owner of the club.”

“Oh.”

Perhaps his answer is poorly said- and it seems to be, based off how Roxy and Jane both start to laugh. His cheeks burn and he shrugs a bit, looking half embarrassed as the two girls giggle quietly. It was poor delivery, he’ll admit, plus his rather dumbstruck look. He understands why everyone was shocked when he was personally invited to the club in Dirk’s name now, though, his cheeks going hotter as he says,

“Well, I didn’t know! No one ever told me.” He grumbles it out and Jane stops laughing, but continues smiling, Roxy getting out a few last little giggles. She looks thoroughly pleased and amused now, saying,

“Oh, sweetie, it’s okay. He mainly DJs there, anyways. It’s like a ‘hobby’ for him, because sure. Running a business is a damned hobby.” She grumbles it out herself and huffs a breath, allowing him a moment to handle his flustered self. He calms down a bit and then sighs, running a quick hand through his pale hair. Pale skin, pale hair. Pale everything. Dirk isn’t. He’s got light hair, yes, but his skin is tan and pretty. It’s got freckles spattered on it and Dave does, too, but- He blinks a bit and shakes his head. Yeah, those thoughts are for tonight.

“Alright. Thanks.” He murmurs it out anyways though and then stretches a bit, watching as Jane starts to clean up the counters and such. He can see on the clock that it reads twelve and a figure rushes in from inside. It’s a woman, donning a green jacket and a black t-shirt. She has stunning lime eyes and a sort of cherish cat smile and eyes, wide and calculating of everything around her. She’s tall, too, with a mane of hair that he can’t possibly imagine having. It’s messy and wavy in a way that reminds him of the wilderness and the wild, the girl offering Roxy and Jane both a bright smile before she heads to the back, presumably to change into her employee clothes, seeing as Jane is taking off her apron now and dusting herself off. “Who was that?” He asks it curiously once their gone, noticing how the woman didn’t do more than just smile and wave before heading off. She didn’t pay attention to the college students chattering around her or the loud commotion in the corner- a group of debate kids arguing again, it seems.

Jane merely shrugs though, simply saying, “Meulin. A real sweetheart,” she says it simply, nodding to the outside of a store. There’s a purple car pulling away then, decorated with skulls on the sides and front. Inside, he can faintly see the outside of a rather tall male who also sports a mane of hair. “That’s her boyfriend, Kurloz. He drops her off at work every day since he doesn’t like her walking here- she’s deaf.” Jane explains it softly though, leaning against the check out counter now- but just for a moment. Soon enough she’s walking out and bumping into Roxy lightly, the girl going to snag her bag from the back. “Be right back.”

This, of course, gives Roxy an opportunity to speak. The woman looks a bit troubled, just for a moment, as she watches the car pull off. He quirks a brow at this and asks, softly, “You alright? Know her or him or something?” Roxy shrugs a bit before shaking her head, a slight sigh leaving her.

“No, uh- her boyfriend is interesting, is all. He’s mute- it’s a story. I might tell you it some other time.” She says it simply and he blinks a bit before nodding. A deaf girl and a mute boy are dating- opposites, yet not. He debates it for a moment before settling with that and a simple,

“Alright, thanks.” It’s pretty simple and nicely so, seeing as Jane comes back from the work room soon enough. She has her bag and she’s cleaned off a bit, her hair unpinned and lipstick reapplied- even if it was just a simple gloss. She slides in beside Rox, though, and he can see how they wish to hold hands and hug, but no- even in Hollywood, that’s not allowed. Still against the law- and yes, it’s literally a _law._ Bigotry knows no limits.

“I’m ready Rox- are you?” Jane glances up to her girlfriend though and the other nods, sharing a smile. Both look to him then and nod towards the door, the male rolling his eyes as he goes to head out with them. He supposes he’ll… head home now? That does seem like the best option and it’s around twelve thirty now, so maybe he can cook something at home? Watch TV and maybe… create some art? Yeah. He’ll call Rose around eight he thinks, and then dress at nine thirty… leave for the club at ten. He should get to the club at around ten thirty or eleven then, based off how hard it is to actually find this damned place. He has a map and shit, sure, but he’ll figure it out. He walks out anyways, holding the door open for the two girls.

“Thanks,”

“Thanks.”

“Janie and I are going to head out, on a little _girl’s night,_ if you would.” Roxy says it simply as he lets the door swing shut behind them, throwing a wink at the male. Jane rolls her eyes and then huffs, cheeks tinting a tad bit as Rox links their arms then.

“It’s a _date_ , but happy birthday, Dave. I hope everything tonight goes well and it isn’t too overwhelming for you.” Jane says it sweetly and means it, a soft smile on her face. She looks glowing and happy, even if Roxy is smug and smirking beside her.

“Yeah, yeah, happy birthday, kid. Enjoy your first time.” Roxy butts it and then winks this time, going to tug her girlfriend to her car- as she had dropped Jane off at work this morning, the other girl laughing.

“Rox-“

“Bye, kid!” “Bye, Dave!”

Both girls chorus their goodbyes though and leave he with a soft smile and roll of the eyes, him huffing as he waves and then goes to get into his car.

“Bye, Roxy. Bye, Jane.”

He has a sister to call.

 

He makes the call. He goes home and turns the radio on low, plopping onto the couch. Out comes the household phone, the male struggling to remember the woman’s phone number- but only for a moment. He’s been lounging around the house for hours now, drawing random things or scenes he sees. Watching whatever shitty show is on TV and signing along to the radio mindlessly, only stopping or hushing- even getting louder- whenever Karkat finally came home. It was brief, though. The male came around five and left around six, staying long enough to wish him a happy birthday and then call him a blubbering asshole that was as tone deaf as a snail when he sang. Ah yes. The grace period for Karkat’s yelling is up.

But- his phone call.

Karkat is gone and it’s just him- him and the phone and the radio and the couch. And the room and this apartment.

You get the point.

But he does call, eventually. It takes him a moment to think of what to say and how to explain- to try and imagine what things are like ever since he disappeared and better yet, he hopes that Rose is still there and safe. He’d never forgive himself if she got hurt- or if Kanaya did, either.

So, he dials.

One number after another, spinning the receiver and the numbers until it’s plugged in and the dial tone is planning, beeping him through. It takes a few moments- it is California to Texas, after all- and soon enough, he’s connected.

He stays silent as a little voice comes over the phone, hesitant, but undeniably Rose.

“Hello?”

He didn’t think he had missed it so much.

“Hey, Rose. Happy early birthday.” Her birthday is tomorrow- although they always do practice and celebrate it a few weeks after. That’s because John’s is close too and- it’s just a lot of birthdays at once, so she always places hers in the middle- evens it out, even if that’s not when it is.

He can hear her gasp over the phone though and a few curses slip past her lips. He can imagine her blushing and flustering, perhaps getting ready to settle down for the night to sleep. Turning on the radio and knitting- reading a book or writing in her diary about weird wizards and love triangles. It is an hour ahead, isn’t it? It must be nine o’clock there and he mentally winces a bit. “Sorry for calling so late. I didn’t think about the time for you.”

A pause, and then, “So, you really made it, then?”

He smiles.

“I did.”

They talk.

They talk- and it’s wonderful. Rose and Kanaya are good- they’ve been stressing over him for a week now and Rose was ready to go to California and kill him, after finding him of course, but Kanaya always told her that he was fine and… well, he is. Just… a little slow on calling friends. Anyways, ever since he’s left, things have toned down, she says. The ‘gay agenda’ as she puts it, _‘is under the radar once more’_. He smiles. They’re safe.

They talk about Texas first and California second. What Rose has been doing and her birthday- how is Kanaya and everything like that? The gas station boy, Sam? How is he? He still has the five dollar bill. He thinks he might keep it forever.

Then it’s onto him and how he’s doing- ’ _happy birthday!’-_ and how California is. Does he have a job? What is the weather like? The food? Does he have any friends? Has he seen Mr. Orange Eyes again? Any cute girls or nice girls? Buy new clothes- how’s his roommate?

Everything possible- they talk about it. They chatter and speak and talk and it’s wonderful- it’s everything he’s been missing. It’s the taste of home he’s been wanting without knowing it and it relaxes him. It makes him confident and reassured and he sighs as he listens to Rose speak of the dates Kanaya and her have gone on lately- what they’re going to do. Their year anniversary is coming up so she needs a gift, but can’t think what. Kanaya has clothes and lipstick and makeup and shoes. So, he suggests knitting her something. Not like… clothes, but maybe a stuffed animal. Doesn’t she like birds or insects or something? A grub, was it? Rose is delighted, of course, and decides to make that immediately, thanking the other. So, they speak and time goes on. They chatter and talk more and it becomes less of him and more of Rose, with the male listening and reminiscing. Eventually Rose notices, pausing before she asks,

“Is everything alright, Dave?” It comes out soft and motherly and he thinks his heart might just break right there, the male sighing and nodding.

“Yeah, yeah. Everything’s really, really good, actually. I missed you a lot- and I miss Kanaya, too. Tell her to give me a call, would you?”  He says it softly, softer than he thought it would come out, and he can hear Rose’s smile through the phone.

“I will. I promise.”

 

The call ends and it’s nine thirty. Perfect timing if you ask him.

He has something to do though and a big night ahead of him, although Rose did get him a bit misty eyed and softened up. Tonight is the time for celebrating though and he has no qualms with that. He heads to his room to get dressed, firstly. His previous shirt comes off and what gets pulled on is a plain, black t-shirt instead, hugging his body in just the right way. It makes him feel small and lanky in his body, as it is, but he tries to be confident. Confidence is attractive, isn’t it? He’s pretty sure that’s what everyone always says, at least, the male going to tug on jeans after. Yes, he was wearing jeans before, but these are _special jeans._ Tighter jeans and… well… nice jeans. They’re not torn or wrinkled or dirty. They don’t have the signs of a greaser lifestyle on them and they aren’t stretched out yet. They’re… attractive. That is his goal- be attractive.

So, he’s being it. He fluffs his hair up and washes his face off, the male grabbing a demin button up. He slides it on, but leaves it unbuttoned, liking the way it flatters his shape. Then, it’s easy.

He grabs his map and little set of notes, snagging his wallet as he heads out and goes straight for the subway.

Time to find Dirk.

 

Finding the club is easier, yet harder than he thought it would be. He takes a taxi to the little subway where Dirk told him to go, as well as Jane, and he wanders the area and tunnels for a bit. Intersections? He’s not even sure what it’s called, but regardless, he wanders. This must be some fancy ass gay club, too, because he _eventually_ finds the specific group of people crowding around the shitty 1942 concert poster Dirk described. The guys are… a bit intimidating, too. They’re greasers and socs- a mix, which is surprising to him, but he’s realizing that Hollywood is different from California in many ways. There’s a few girls mixed in, too, and he realizes that it’s meant to look like just… some people hanging out, like a Monday night… outing? Not the most appealing thing, but whatever. His birthday is on a Monday, sue him.

Either way, he approaches them, looking the tiniest bit embarrassed. His cheeks, he knows, are stained a bit pink, just from the sheer _looks_ he gets. Maybe he looks as gay as Dirk said he did- which, he doesn’t even want to _think_ about that- and it’s a tiny bit embarrassing, since he knows he’s fumbling a bit too. You try not to when you have a group of eight people staring at you- some like you’re a god damned meal to _eat._ Thanks, but no thanks.

Still- he approaches, hesitant, blonde hair shining in the yellow lights of the subway. The gray walls offer no protection from the artificial light either, the darkness outside illuminating the place in a sort of eerie light. Perhaps that’s why a girl speaks first whenever he comes close, seeing his anxiousness, maybe.

“Hey, honey. What’re ya doin’ out here, alone?” It comes off a bit predatory and her voice rolls, but he can see it’s just her flirty personality when she winks and the others roll their eyes. She’s donned in many swirling, black tattoos, with long black hair going down to her back. She’s got a plunging neckline and a tight dress. It’s a jade color that reminds him of Kanaya, despite the piercings this woman has and the heavy makeup- although it looks quite tactful and nice on her. Despite all of this, he finds no appeal in it. Maybe it’s… because he’s… _gay?_ Could be- which leads him to focus on a male instead. A male, who is leaning against the pillar that the poster is plastered against. He has a cigarette dangling from his lips loosely and a lightning scar on his forehead, up near the hairline. He looks like your typical greaser, too. Shined shoes that are still scuffed despite the polish; slicked back hair and leather jacket, white shirt. He’s got an eased, but flirty, stance, and once he catches Dave’s eye, he promptly winks his own stormy gray ones- that Dave swears are a sort of cloudy purple- and smirks. Straightening up, he leans towards the male- he’s a _lot_ taller than the male thought he was- and asks,

“Wanna puff, babe?” He offers the cigarette and it takes Dave a moment to remember that he’s here with a meaning, despite the fact that he’s mesmerized by the male in front of him, who is so _clearly_ flirting with him- which leads him to take the cigarette anyways. He has time, surely, and he doesn’t think he’s _ever_ been flirted with, except for Dirk’s little quips. It’s truly something addicting.

“I suppose I could- and I’m here alone for a reason. Looking for something that I think you can help me find?” He says and he realizes it comes off as flirty after a moment, the male taking a puff from the cigarette and then blowing it away from him. The male who gave it to him whistles and looks vaguely impressed whenever he hands it back, the female shoving the tall greaser lightly and asking,

“And what can we help you with, darling?”

“Do you happen to know where I can find the Silverado? Dirk invited me.” He says it easily and is becoming more and more confident- relaxing his posture and raising his chin a bit. Looking at the female levelly and allowing the heat on his cheeks to wash away. He has nothing to blush over- the male’s attention is something to not get bashful over. Appreciate it, yes, but don’t flounder.

And oh, yes. Don’t flounder, yet that’s what the other people in the group do. He hadn’t forgotten about them, but when the cigarette welding man seems to cough a bit on his puff, the lady blinking- well, everyone else follows suit. They look around a bit and then the male seems to regain himself, blinking and standing up a bit straighter.

“Dirk invited you? Well, I’ll be shittin’- yeah, of course.- _Naturally Dirk found you first-_ “

“Oh, shut up, Cronus. You’d be fine if your dick didn’t jump at every boy and girl who breathes at it and everything in between.” The lady speaks now and tsks at the male- Cronus, apparently,- her rolling her eyes. She gives Dave a polite smile. “Ignore him, sweetie. Dirk doesn’t invite a lot of people, but I’m assuming you’re from out of town, with those pretty eyes of yours. Now, if you go…” She tells him instructions quickly and easily, even writing it down for him, sweetly enough. Apparently the place is in an alleyway, tucked by a recording studio and art shop. You go to subways because it’s by a subway entrance and it’s so, _so_ hidden, because a couple of years some cops busted it. Cops, who had someone on their force bust it, who had actually gone to the club and was _gay._ Regardless, they moved the club and it’s a bit harder to find now. Dirk doesn’t bother himself with inviting people- or really socializing, to be fair- so that’s why everyone’s been shocked. Porrim- the woman finally says her name- is nice enough to explain everything. She answers his questions and he’s quite satisfied by the end of it, thanking her sweetly and feeling a great deal more informed and reassured. Relaxed, maybe? That works.

Moving on, though, he says goodbye to Porrim and Cronus and everyone else in the group, who has been joking among themselves. One girl- someone who likes to steal Cronus’ cigarettes- winks at him and makes some sort of obscene gesture before shouting at him in Japanese. Based off how even Porrim blushed and Cronus balks, he considers it better that he doesn’t understand it and goes on his way.

 

Finding the Silverado is actually quite easy, despite the fact that it’s down a creepy little alleyway. The only thing that convinces him that he is, in fact, going to a gay club and not some cult is the little sign above the doorway, reading, _Silverado_ in orange text. Typical Dirk- or at least what seems typical for the male. He doesn’t know anything about him- yet. And that’s a big yet, seeing as he walks down the alleyway. He shoves his hands into his pockets and goes up to the door of the place, the bouncer eyeing him a tiny bit before he flashes a little smile. His red eyes glow in the night light- it must be about eleven now- and the bouncer finally cracks. He opens the door and he smirks a bit then, winking as his thank you as he heads into the club and _oh-_ it’s a _club._

He’s never been to a club before. You don’t have clubs in Texas- and definitely not gay ones. Not ones with drag queens and bright lights and loud music- not ones with males dancing with males and females kissing females. Not with ones where people in between can dance and sing and be with others like them. It’s a startling experience, really. An awakening, perhaps, when a male walks past him and winks, waving a nail polished hand. He’s got on makeup and lipstick and earrings- he’s _amazing_. Dave’s baffled, in the best way possible. It’s the same thing when some girls walk past him in they're in _male’s clothes._ And yes, that seems like nothing, but mind you that’s _illegal_ right now and you can go to jail for wearing a men’s shirt. Don’t wear your boyfriend’s clothes, girls.

But- moving on. He’s exhilarated- baffled. Smoke swirls in the air from cigarettes and beer is getting passed. Men have long hair and makeup and girls have short hair and men’s fashion. It’s like a flip of the binaries in the best way and he is… he’s _living for it_. He embraces it, too. This is- this is _his_. This is his community and _this is where he belongs_. A couple holds hands on a couch and drinks from the same drink, while another couple makes out against the wall and… goes on to lewd things. It’s every side of a relationship, whirling around , and him it tells him _yes, you can have this._

And he wants it.

 

He gets his first drink within a few minutes. He’s traveling through the crowd, not necessarily looking for Dirk rather than just getting a feel for his surroundings, when a nice man offers the drink to him. And sure, he would usually say no- he still knows what can happen, even in the gay community- but considering he _just_ saw the bartender pour the drink, he nods and accepts it.

That’s how he meets his first catch of the night.

He’s got a soc look but cherry colored hair- cherry the wood- and Dave likes it. His eyes are brown and shine and while he isn’t as impressive as Dirk or as sweet as John or even as flirtatious as Cronus, the greaser doesn’t mind. It’s a starter for the night and he gets bathed in the club lights with the male, sharing sips from the same cup and telling jokes. He educates Dave in subtle ways- in how to move his body and how to dance. How to enjoy and let go, the male ending up laughing with the other. He’s not drunk or on drugs, but he feels high. A good high. Nothing is fuzzy, but he’s floating. He’s found his people and the male tells him he has pretty eyes and pretty hips. He has a pretty body and nice hair- everything Dave wishes someone would tell him. Everything slightly feminine about him that he wasn’t supposed to like, these people like- this _man_ likes. He has a nice voice and a nice laugh and Dave likes him. So, they talk. They dance and talk and drink for a long time until they kiss a bit and the short male eventually parts. He doesn’t want to- not yet. He still has people to see and things to explore. He doesn’t think he wants to… _y’know_ , anyways. Not right now, certainly. Give him time- a lot of time. This is his first experience out- his first proper gay experience, if you will. He’s kissed plenty of girls and made out with plenty, sure, but with men it’s… it’s so _different._ They have stubble and rough hands and taller bodies. Broader shoulders and rougher voices. Their hair is shorter and something more coarse, but he likes it. He likes it a lot.

Yet, he doesn’t let himself get carried away. He has someone to see- someone who specifically invited him here. He thinks it would be a shame if he didn’t at least stop by and pay that person a hello, assuming Dirk is here- and oh, he is.

And when Dave sees him… well, he doesn’t think he’ll be able to forget him.

The reasoning?

 _Dirk is amazing._ He has his shades perched low on his nose, beating his head to the rhythm he has playing out of the speakers. He’s dressed in a black tank top again and low riding pants, tattoos showing off. His hair is slicked back and spiked up, bangs falling in his face. Tanned skin shines in the light and Dave wants to count every little freckle desperately, watching those orange eyes shine in the changing lights of the club. Dirk moves with practiced ease and it’s amazing- it’s like Jane, _yet smoother_. It’s with a confidence he didn’t know existed and Dirk barely moves a muscle the whole time, controlling everything easily and slickly. He sometimes tilts his head to listen to a person and murmurs a reply, quiet and in control. He’s smooth and sharp and- _he’s Dirk._

Dave wants to get to know him so bad it hurts.

So, he does.

He walks up to the DJ station and maybe it’s the liquid courage in his veins- about two cups of it now- but he doesn’t hesitate. His red eyes are shining, no shades on his face, nor the bruises Dirk last saw. He has his unbuttoned shirt tied around his waist, too, pushing his hair back a bit as his eyes watch the other. His face is flushed and his freckles shine like stars on a midnight black sky, the male leaning up on his toes and tapping Dirk’s shoulder. He smirks a bit.

“Remember me?”

It comes out more smooth than he expected and apparently more smooth than Dirk expected, too, seeing as the male raises an eyebrow and looks to the other.

And he pauses.

He seems to be replaying memories for a moment, mouth twitching a bit at the corners as his sunset eyes take in Dave- take in his body and his smirk and his healed self. His _confident_ self. Dirk chuckles quietly,

“How could I forget?”

And apparently Dirk didn’t forget. Soon enough the tall male has left his station and is coercing Dave through the crowd, a gentle yet firm hand on the others’ lower back. It guides him and the shorter male has no problem with going with it, until they’re by one of the couches. People scoot over and leave the space for Dirk to sit down, him following suit. The male takes the corner spot and Dirk takes the middle piece, the two lounging and examining each other for a moment. Each looks better in their own right- more polished, yet more confident and free. It seems that while this is his freeing moment, it’s also Dirk’s. Finally, the orange eyed male breaks the silence,

“When did you get to Hollywood?” It’s curious yet stoic and Dirk raises his eyebrows a bit, taking off his glasses to clip them to the front of his shirt. He has an arm going around the back of the couch and Dave leans back against it a bit, humming and then shrugging.

“Last… Wednesday? I left for Hollywood then, anyways. Got here on a Thursday.” He says it simply after a bit of mental math, shrugging. Dirk only looks amused and his lips quirk up in a smirk, the male saying,

“So, you go to a club for the first time on a _Monday?_ You sure know how to party.” He raises his eyebrows teasingly and Dave scowls, rolling his eyes a bit,

“It’s my birthday, you asshole. Besides, I’ll do what I damned well _please._ ” He clicks his tongue a bit and pokes at Dirk’s thigh, the other chuckling again and leaning close. He merely tilts his head back against the couch cushions and raises his eyebrows, Dirk huffing another little laugh as he gets close and examines Dave’s lips.

“Did you make a pit stop before you got to me?” It’s teasing and not at all upset or jealous- although the short male isn’t sure why it would be. They both know that hooking up at a club, of any sort, is pretty standard. So, maybe he shrugs a bit and bats his lashes a tiny bit, too, a smirk forming on his lips. He’s guessing their redness and how flushed he is gave it away.

“Hmm, maybe. If I say yes, will you care more than if I said no?” He says it smoothly and Dirk huffs another little laugh, eyes narrowing as he examines the other. A hand reaches up to Dave’s face and rubs along the hinge of his jaw smoothly, feeling the clean shaveness of it and the pale skin, along with all of its scars.

“Maybe. Would you?”

“Maybe.”

“Smartass.”

“Shut up and stop fondling my lips with your eyes, you asshole-“

And so Dirk stopped.

What next is rather typical- a melding of people. A kiss and then more kisses. A few touches and messy hair- perhaps a feeling of scruff against his hands and the shape of hipbones against Dirk’s palms. They go together as two puzzle pieces would, but it’s merely for the moment and not even the night. Mouths open and breaths exchange, but neither are ready for such a thing, and so they part. It’s simple and they both understand- they both have limits and morals and things beyond that. Wants and needs- and neither of them are that. Sex isn’t something necessary and neither asks for it, both breaking apart with a few soft, sweet words. They both stand and onto the bar they go, to drink together and get drunk. And really- that only applies to Dave, because he does. He gets _drunk_.

He’s already had three drinks and wow, have you ever seen someone his size down three more cups of beer and then two shots? Now you have and now Dirk has, too, growing more and more amused as late, late night turns into one am. It’s dramatic, really, how Dave changes. He gets more confident, sure. Says dumbass shit and likes to rap random shit, though, utterly focused on keeping Dirk’s attention, though. It’s fun for Dirk. Don’t worry.

“Dirk- _Dirk, yo, your eyes are as lit as a fucking sunset. You’re as sizzling as a pancake on a hot pan, butter melting ain’t even as smooth as you. Your hair is as spiky as the fucking mountains, yet it’s as soft as a baby’s ass. You’re as tall as a fucking doorway and wow, dude, that’s pretty hot-_ “

“Dave, hush-“

“ _Dirk, you’re so fucking hot, dude, seriously, your dj’ing skills are smoother than Jane’s shitty puns and Roxy’s winks-“_

“You know my friends? Not the point- God, you’re fucking _drunk_.”

“ _I’m only drunk for you and this pride, man, have you ever seen such beautiful shit? Oh wait, I have. Your face-“_

“This is wonderfully ironic and all, but I need to get your ass home.”

And so Dirk does. They’ve been at the bar for a while now and everyone in the proximity is thoroughly enjoying Dave’s antics, as well as how he merely clings to Dirk. Holds onto his shades and puts them on, complaining of it being dark right after. He does more dumb shit like this, including wondering why his button up _isn’t_ buttoned and why you don’t button it _up_. Like, do you have to physically go from bottom to top? What if you button it top to bottom-

Various conversations ensue and Dirk humors them all, sighing as he eventually just hauls Dave up. He, himself, is pretty sober. He knows how to hold his alcohol, and even then, he doesn’t drink on the job for this reason. He has to make sure that other people are safe- such as this shortie’s drunk ass. So, he puts an arm under the male and guides him out of the club and into the night, and then into his own car, rather quickly. As much as he appreciates the affection, he wouldn’t appreciate getting arrested for Dave’s gay ass. Because literally. They’ll arrest you for being gay.

Enough of this shitty world, though. Once he is inside and Dirk manages to get an apartment number and building out of him, he heads that way.

It’s a fairly easy drive, and considering that Dirk has many friends in many places, it’s easy to find, too. The biggest challenge is, perhaps, getting him inside. Now, _that_ is a challenge. Parking is fine and so is unbuckling, as long as he pauses and gives Dave sufficient kisses in between. He never lets it go on for too long, though. Quick mashes of the lips and perhaps a bump of the noses and then he has pulled away, getting out of the car. He’s quick to help Dave get out, too, lest the male try to do it himself and then faceplant on the damn asphalt.

So, yes. It’s a challenge. Stairs are worse, until he finally gives up and picks Dave up bridal style. This only causes a new slew of things to be said, though-

“ _Oh, Dirk, what a prince. A beefy one, too, huh, definitely not vegetarian. Are you vegetarian? That’d be fucking weird. Or not. I don’t judge.”_

It’s nonsensical things and he sighs all the while, a smile quirking on his lips. His shades are back on his face now and he takes Dave’s keys out of the male’s pocket-

“ _Woah there, take me on a date first, would you? Preferably a hot and steamy date, too. Maybe a sauna. Or perhaps a dumpling place where they steam the food-“_

And eventually the door is unlocked. In he goes, the male closing the door with his foot since his hands are, literally, full of drunken greaser. The place is nice, he realizes, too. The radio and TV are off, yeah, and he can see the signs of a roommate, so he at least tries to stay quiet. Dave being quiet is something he can’t quite guarantee, though, trying to hush the male or quiet him with soft words and quick kisses. It seems dumb- bribe a stranger- not really a stranger, since they both _did_ talk quite a bit over the alcohol, at least until Dave got… like this—but it works. Dave hushes and then soon enough he’s yawning like a baby, all sleepy eyed and batting lashes. Holding onto Dirk’s shoulders and leaning his head against his chest, nosing in and humming. Good. Dirk prefers a sleepy, quiet drunk, from a loud, puking drunk. He prefers anything if it not a puking drunk, actually.

It’s not hard to find his room, either. It’s got the door cracked and Dirk peeks inside, seeing the clothes set out and then Dave’s leather jacket, his shades. It’s a bit of an organized mess, really, but it’s similar to Dirk’s own place. He’ll have to have Dave over sometime. He sets the male down onto the bed, though, Dave shifting back into focus now.

“Thanks- thanks for uh… taking me here… all safe and stuff.” It’s murmured out and soft, the sleepy eyed male kicking off his shoes sluggishly. He takes off his button up from his waist and then throws it _somewhere_ in the room, the male promptly going to crawl under the covers after. He doesn’t care anything about undressing or any of that mess, settling in as he watches Dirk examine the room and then-

“Wait- don’t go. Please.” Dirk had murmured a soft ‘you’re welcome’ and then went to leave, making him feeling a startling amount of… fear? He never did like to be left alone and while he’s too tired to be a blubbering drunk right now, he still feels the infatuation in his blood, thickly. Dirk truly is everything he said- even if that was just _you’re fucking hot_. Because, he is. He’s pretty hot, to be fair. He’s also a total sweetheart, though, Dave is learning, as he sighs and turns back around. He looks tired himself and the male realizes that it must be about one am- really, closer to two now, ouch- and he… honestly feels bad about it. Something inside of him just prevents him from letting Dirk leave, though. A sort of anxious feeling and Dirk seems to understand after a moment, going to sit on Dave’s bed after he flickers off the lights. The curtains are drawn and darkness bathes the room, save for a bit of a light flickering in through the outside night lights or stars. It’s just enough to illuminate the others’ features and their eyes seem to shine in the dark anyways, fiery red meeting a sunset orange. Both are bright and vibrant, yet… he finds something soothing in Dirk’s eyes. It’s something that makes him relax and puff out a slow breath, finally easing his shoulders. His eyes are heavy now and they flutter, eyelashes along his freckled cheeks as sleep tugs at him.

“Go to sleep, Dave, I’m right here.” A soft voice, perhaps rougher and thicker than he pays attention to, comes to him and he puffs a slow breath. His eyes flutter shut once more and they stay there for a few more moments, fingers eventually threading through the soft strands of hair. They comb through it, over and over, until he’s lulled and his chest is rising and falling in a soft pattern. He’s asleep and out, peacefully. The blanket gets tucked around him, too, then, and along with that, a soft kiss is placed on his forehead. While Dirk is addicting, Dave is addicting in his own right.

 

A number and name is scrawled on one of Dave’s notepads, the apartment door clicking shut as he dreams of swirling, sunset orange and feather light kisses.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope ya enjoyed!


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